‘Three o’clock of a January night: a cold dark night with no moon.’ He went under the window and his footsteps died away. Carrie rubbed her eyes, and saw that the fire still burned brightly, lighting up the big room with its heavy hangings and huge pieces of furniture. ‘Where can Phil be? why has he never come in?’ asked Carrie, a little anxiously. She sat up to listen if she could not hear any sound in the house, tossing back her long red curls over her shoulder. Yes, some one was coming softly up-stairs; she knew the footstep well. A minute later the door opened and Philip came in. He wore no coat nor any shoes. ‘Hullo, Carrie! are you too keeping a vigil?’ he said lightly, as he paused at the door. ‘Phil! where is your coat? and why are you without shoes?’ cried Carrie. ‘I played them away. I played the coat off my back and the shoes off my feet. I scarce ever before had such sport. And let me lie down, Carrie, my dear, for I am dog tired.’ And with that Phil cast himself down on the bed just as he was, rolled over on his side, dragged the satin quilt over his shoulder, and was asleep before the words were well said. Carrie tried ineffectually to waken him. ‘You will catch a chill for certain, Phil,’ she said; but Phil would not listen, so she fetched a cloak and covered him with it as tenderly as a mother might wrap up a sleeping child, then lay down herself and tried to sleep. But she was wakeful for long, and thought of many things; of long ago, and the visit she had paid Phil in that very room where he lay, in that very bed, a sick and a very bad-tempered child. How strange the turns of Fortune’s wheel were, to be sure! Then she thought of her father, and longed and longed to see him. ‘I believe he will find me somewhat altered. I am become such a fine lady now-a-days,’ thought she, smiling in the darkness. At last she fell asleep, and dreamed pleasant dreams of meeting her father, and finding their quarrel had all been a mistake; and then suddenly she woke with a great noise going on down-stairs. There came a terrific thunder at the outer door, a confusion of voices, and then footsteps came up the staircase. Then Peter’s voice threatening, expostulating:— ‘I’ll tell my master. Stand back! I tell you you are mistook.’ ‘Phil,’ cried Carrie, shaking him lightly. ‘Phil, there is something wrong!’ Phil grumbled in his sleep. But the next moment the door was opened, and Peter, white and agitated, entered the room. ‘Sir, sir, there is some mistake! For the love of Heaven waken and come out here.’ As he spoke two men followed him into the room, and one of them advanced to where Phil, yawning and rubbing his eyes, sat up on the edge of the bed, exclaiming impatiently to Peter, ‘What the deuce is all this, Peter?’ ‘I arrest you in the King’s name,’ said one of the men, and he laid his hand on Phil’s shoulder. Phil was wide awake at last.