a
doorway, in a corner at the right.

'Come, dear cheaile, take your bag; don't mind the rugs, they are safe
enough.'

'But where are we to go? There is no one!' I said, looking round in wonder.
It certainly was a strange reception at an hotel.

'Never mind, my dear cheaile. They know me here, and I have always the same
room ready when I write for it. Follow me quaitely.'

So she mounted, carrying the candle. The stair was steep, and the march
long. We halted at the second landing, and entered a gaunt, grimy passage.
All the way up we had not heard a single sound of life, nor seen a human
being, nor so much as passed a gaslight.

'Viola! here 'tis, my dear old room. Enter, dearest Maud.'

And so I did. The room was large and lofty, but shabby and dismal. There
was a tall four-post bed, with its foot beside the window, hung with
dark-green curtains, of some plush or velvet texture, that looked like
a dusty pall. The remaining furniture was scant and old, and a ravelled
square of threadbare carpet covered a patch of floor at the bedside. The
room was grim and large, and had a cold, vault-like atmosphere, as if
long uninhabited; but there were cinders in the grate and under it. The
imperfect light of our mutton-fat candle made all this look still more
comfortless.

Madame placed the candle on the chimneypiece, locked the door, and put the
key in her pocket.

'I always do so in '_otel_' said she, with a wink at me.

And, then with a long 'ha!' expressive of fatigue and relief, she threw
herself into a chair.

'So 'ere we are at last!' said she; 'I'm glad. _There's_ your bed, Maud.
_Mine_ is in the dressing-room.'

She took the candle, and I went in with her. A shabby press bed, a
chair, and table were all its furniture; it was rather a closet than a
dressing-room, and had no door except that through which we had entered. So
we returned, and very tired, wondering, I sat down on the side of my bed
and yawned.

'I hope they will call us in time for the packet,' I said.

'Oh yes, they never fail,' she answered, looking steadfastly on her box,
which she was diligently uncording.

Uninviting as was my bed, I was longing to lie down in it; and having made
those ablutions which our journey rendered necessary, I at length lay
down, having first religiously stuck my talismanic pin, with the head of
sealing-wax, into the bolster.

Nothing escaped the restless eye of Madame.

'Wat is that, dear cheaile?' she enqui