Page:Sylvester Sound the Somnambulist (1844).djvu/245

"Oh, she berely wadted to ask be about a youdg fellow whob she fadcied she had offedded."

"How does she look?"

"Buch as usual; just about the sabe."

Tom thought it wise to keep Sylvester unconscious of Julia's anxiety, and he did so; and, in order that the subject might not be dwelt upon then, he reverted to the conversation of Mr. Scholefield, and thus turned the current of Sylvester's thoughts.

That night, Tom decided upon sitting up alone. He had privately decided upon this, feeling certain that if his intention were known to Sylvester, he should never be able to get him to bed; while he thought that it would be highly incorrect to keep him out of it, so languid as he almost invariably appeared to be.

When, therefore, they had had their usual supper in the study, Tom saw Sylvester to his room, shook hands with him, and bade him good night; and then, making all the noise he conveniently could, bounced into his own room, and slammed the door, and locked it, of course with the view of inducing all whom it might concern to believe that he was in reality gone to bed. But it was not so: he remained in the room a short time—say ten minutes—and then, having carefully unlocked the door, crept noiselessly back to his study.

And there he sat; and there he continued to sit with a little dark lantern shut up by his side—sometimes smoking, and sometimes drinking; but constantly thinking, and earnestly wishing, that some one might do him the favour to appear. He was fully prepared, both morally and physically, to receive any guest who might honour him with a visit; he had resolved on doing all in his power to serve him—that is, to serve him out—and it is extremely rational to cherish the belief that, if any one had appeared then, his reception would have been most warm; but the prospect which Tom had with pleasure portrayed, and which he viewed and improved with peculiar delight, began about half-past two to recede. He had, with the utmost fortitude, sat for two hours—proposing and solving an infinite variety of surgical questions, having direct and immediate reference to the dislocated joints and broken bones of his contemplated victim—and, as no one had appeared, he certainly did begin to think that the pleasures of his imagination were not about to be realised.

He was not, however, at all disposed to give the thing up! No: he filled his German pipe again, and ignited his German tinder, in order that the room might not even for an instant be illumined, and again philosophically enveloped himself in clouds. He had, however, scarcely sent forth twenty whiffs, when he fancied that he heard a noise below, and starting up on the instant grasped his stick, and felt that the time was come.

But the sounds—which he believed were those of footsteps—receded, and gradually died away: when, as he imagined that he might have been mistaken, he resumed both his seat and his pipe.

Now it strangely enough happened that, about an hour after this—hat is to say, about half-past three—policeman Ninety-nine did, on