Why poor dear Lemon wouldn't stand anybody but me was, to say the least of it, inexplicable; as, since I used to catch indistinct views of his legs when he came courting Fanny in my father's house, I had never set eyes on him. I made no remark, however, but waited quietly for developments. "He took to his bed, sir," said Mrs. Lemon, "at a quarter to four o'clock yesterday afternoon; and it's my opinion he'll never git up from it." "That is bad news, Fanny. But your letter to me was written before yesterday afternoon." "Yes, sir; because I felt that things mustn't be allowed to go on as they _are_ going on without trying to alter 'em. They was bad enough when I posted my letter to you, sir; but they're a million times worse now. My blood's a-curdling, sir." "Eh?" I cried, much startled by this solemn matter-of-fact description of the condition of her blood. "It's curdling inside me, sir, to think of what is going to happen to Lemon!" "Come, come, Fanny," I expostulated, "you mustn't take things so seriously; it will not mend them. What does the doctor say?" "Doctor, sir? Love your heart! If I was to take a doctor into Lemon's room now, I wouldn't answer for the consequences." "That is all nonsense," I said; "he must be reasoned with." Mrs. Lemon shook her head triumphantly. "You may reason with some men, sir, and you may delood a child; but reason with Lemon--I defy you, sir!" There was really no occasion for her to do that, as I was there in the capacity of a friend. While we were conversing I made continual unsuccessful attempts to avoid sight of the objects which had produced upon me so disagreeable an impression, but I could not place myself in such a position as to escape the whole three at one and the same time. If I turned my back upon the evil-looking bird and the portrait of Mr. Lemon, the hideous stone figure on the mantelshelf met my gaze; if I turned my back upon that, I not only had a side view of the bird's beak, but a full-faced view of my friend Lemon. Familiarity with these objects intensified my first impressions of them, and at times I could almost fancy that their sinister features moved in mockery of me. There was in them a fiend-like magnetism I found it impossible to resist. "Does your husband eat well?" I asked. "Not so well as he used to do, sir." "Perhaps," I said, hazarding a guess, "he drinks a little too much." "No, sir, you're wrong there. He likes a glass--we none of us despise it, sir--but he never exceeds." "Then, in the name of all that's reasonable, Fanny, what is the matter with him?" Mrs. Lemon turned to her husband's portrait, turned to the stone figure on the mantelshelf, turned to the evil-looking bird; and her frame was shaken by a strong shuddering. "Is it anything to do with those objects?" I inquired, my wonder and perplexity growing.