Another pressure of Dicky's hand reminded me--I am ashamed to confess it--that if Mrs. Portheris was bent upon the unnecessary consumption of Roman tallow there was nothing in her past treatment of either of us to induce us to prevent her. The dictates of humanity, I know, should have influenced us otherwise, in connection with tallow, but they seemed for the moment to have faded as completely out of our bosoms as they did out of the early Roman persecutors! It seemed to me that all my country's wrongs at the hands of Mrs. Portheris rose up and clamoured to be avenged, and Dicky told me afterward that he felt just the same way. "Then I have done you an injustice," she continued; "I apologize, I am sure, and I find that I have my own candle, thank you. It is adhering to the side of my bonnet." We were perfectly silent. "Perhaps I ought to try and wait a little longer," Mrs. Portheris hesitated, "but I feel such a sinking, and I assure you I have fallen away. My garments are quite loose." "Of course it depends," said Dicky scientifically, "upon the amount of carbon the system has in reserve. Personally I think I can hold out a little longer. I had an excellent breakfast this m----, the day we came here. But if I felt a sinking----" "_Waugh!_" said Mrs. Portheris. "Have you--have you _begun_?" I exclaimed in agony, while Dicky shook in silence. "I have," replied Mrs. Portheris hurriedly; "where--where is the eucalyptus? Ah! I have it!" "_Ben-en-euh!_ It is nutritive, I am sure, but it requires a cordial." The darkness for some reason seemed a little less black and the silence less oppressive. "I have only eaten about three inches," remarked Mrs. Portheris presently. Dicky and I were incapable of conversation--"but I--but I cannot go on at present. It is really not nice." "An overdone flavour, hasn't it?" asked Dicky, between gasps. "Very much so! Horribly! But the eucalyptus will, I hope, enable me to extract some benefit from it. I think I'll lie down again." And we heard the sound of a cork restored to its bottle as Mrs. Portheris returned to the tomb. It was quite half an hour before she woke up, declaring that a whole night had passed and that she was more famished than ever. "But," she added, "I feel it impossible to go on with the candle. There is something about the wick----" "I know," said Dicky sympathetically, "unless you are born in Greenland, you cannot really enjoy them. There is an alternative, Mrs. Portheris, but I didn't like to mention it----" "I know," she replied, "shoe leather. I have read of that, too, and I think it would be an improvement. Have you got a pocket-knife, Mr. Dod?" Dicky produced it without a pang and we heard the rapid sound of an unbuttoning shoe. "I had these made to order at two guineas, in the Burlington Arcade," said Mrs. Portheris regretfully. "Then," said Dicky gravely, groping to hand her the knife, "they will be of good kid, and probably tender."