"Just so. Grace Poole--you have guessed it. She is, as you say, singular--very. Well, I shall reflect on the subject. Meantime, I am glad that you are the only person, besides myself, acquainted with the precise details of to-night's incident. You are no talking fool: say nothing about it. I will account for this state of affairs" (pointing to the bed): "and now return to your own room. I shall do very well on the sofa in the library for the rest of the night. It is near four:--in two hours the servants will be up."

     "Good-night, then, sir," said I, departing.

     He seemed surprised--very inconsistently so, as he had just told me to go.

     "What!" he exclaimed, "are you quitting me already, and in that way?"

     "You said I might go, sir."

     "But not without taking leave; not without a word or two of acknowledgment and good-will: not, in short, in that brief, dry fashion. Why, you have saved my life!--snatched me from a horrible and excruciating death! and you walk past me as if we were mutual strangers! At least shake hands."

     He held out his hand; I gave him mine: he took it first in one, them in both his own.