in him. Evening deepened into
night, and still he sat there. A little insect behind the wall-paper
against which he leaned his disconsolate head ticked and ticked like a
watch. Paul had heard of the death-watch, and this, of course, was
it, and its token was, of course, of his own untimely end. He wept
luxuriously.

By-and-by he got up, and crept on tiptoe past the door of the best
bedroom, which stood a little open, and invited him inwards by the
mysterious gleam on the ceiling and the thrilling shadows of the great
four-poster with its dusky hangings--a family heirloom, hint of far-off
family prosperity, big enough for a hearse and quite as gloomy to look
at. A heavy, solid mahogany chest of drawers stood near the window, and
Paul, aided by the gaslights glistening amongst the polished tinware
in the shop opposite, went through every drawer. His hands lighted on
something done up in tissue-paper--an oblong parcel. He investigated
it, and it turned out to be a big sponge loaf. He had seen one like it
before, and guessed that it came as a gift from the old-maid cousins
at the farm. He pinched off a bit from one of the bottom corners, and
nibbled it He had not known till then how hungry he was, and the cake
was more than delicious. He pinched off more, and was frightened to
find how much he had taken. Detection was sure, and who but he could
be suspected? Nothing could save him now, and though he had never heard
either proverb, he acted on both--'In for a penny, in for a pound,' and
'As well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.' A voice and a footstep below
startled him, and he fled guiltily. Now he was a thief, and then he was
a beleaguered citizen, forced to make excursions by night, and live
at risk of life on the provisions of the foe. He lay on the bed, and
watched the lights on the ceiling until the cheesemonger's shop and the
tinman's were closed; then he went to sleep, and in a while Dick came
and awoke him.

'You'll get nothing to eat till you confess,' said Dick, 'and then
you'll get a licking.'

'Then I shall die,' said Paul. 'I shan't confess what I never done.'

He undressed and got into bed, and was more of a Christian martyr than
he had ever been before. He slept fairly well, all things considered;
but when in the morning his father's deep, asthmatic cough sounded on
the stairs, he felt as if his heart had slipped through his spine and
had dropped upon the floor. He sat up in bed as his father entered the