pacing up
and down the hall for quite a quarter of an hour before the bell rang;
and then I got up-stairs to find him talking very earnestly to Miss
Adela Mimpriss, and she all the time shaking her head and trying to pull
away her hand.

I pretended not to see, and went into the dining-room slowly, to find
Miss Virginia down on her knees before Sir John, and him with his two
hands lying upon her bent head, while she seemed to be sobbing.

"I did not ring, Burdon," he said huskily.

"Beg pardon, Sir John; the bell rang."

"Ah, yes. I forgot--only to show that lady out."

I left the room; and as I did so, I found the front door open, and Mr
Barclay on the step, looking across at Miss Adela Mimpriss, who was just
tripping up the steps of the house opposite; and I saw her use a
latchkey, open the door, and look round as she was going in, to give Mr
Barclay a laughing look; and then the door was closed, and my young
master shut ours.

That day and the next passed quietly enough; but I could see very
plainly that there was something wrong, for there was a cold way of
speaking among our people in the dining-room, the dinner going off
terribly quiet, and Sir John afterwards not seeming to enjoy his wine;
while Miss Virginia sat alone in the drawing-room over her tea; and Mr
Barclay, after giving me back my keys, went up-stairs, and I know he was
looking out, for Miss Adela Mimpriss was sitting at the window opposite,
and I saw her peep up twice.

This troubled me a deal, for, after all those years, I never felt like a
servant, but as if I was one of them; and it made me so upset, that, as
I lay in my bed in the pantry that night wondering whether Mr Barclay
would go away and forget all about the young lady opposite, and come
back in a year and be forgiven, and marry Miss Virginia, I suddenly
thought of my keys.

"That's it," I said. "It was to try the lock of his portmanteau. He
means to go, and it will be all right, after all."

But somehow, I couldn't sleep, but lay there pondering, till at last I
began to sniff, and then started up in bed, thinking of Edward Gunning.

"There's something wrong somewhere," I said to myself, for quite plainly
I could smell burning--the oily smell as of a lamp, a thing I knew well
enough, having trimmed hundreds.

At first I thought I must be mistaken; but no--there it was, strong; and
jumping out of bed, I got a light; and to show that I was not wrong,
there was my cat Tom look