"I shall not need it. I am going to sleep in Devlin's room, on the floor." She caught my arm with a cry of alarm. "Has he got hold of you, too, sir? The Lord save us! He's got the lot of us in his claws!" "Don't be absurd," I said. "I know what I'm about, and Mr. Devlin will find me a match for him. No more questions; do as you are bid. If you have a mattress and some bedclothes to spare, bring them up at once." "I won't look at him, sir--I won't speak to him! O, how shall I ever forgive myself--how shall I ever forgive myself?" She threw her apron (which during my absence she had put on over her faded black silk dress) over her head, and swayed to and fro in the passage, moaning and groaning in great distress of mind. I pulled the apron from her face, and gave her a good shaking by way of corrective. She ceased her moans. "I have no patience with you, Fanny," I exclaimed. "In heaven's name, what do you want to be forgiven for?" "For dragging you into this horrible business, sir," she said, with a tendency to relapse, which I immediately checked by another shaking. "That--that devil up-stairs----" This time I shook her so soundly that she could not get out another word for the chattering of her teeth. "No more, Fanny," I said roughly, "or you will make me angry. I know what I am about, and if you don't stop instantly and do exactly as I bid you, I'll leave you and your Lemon to your fate. Do you hear?" The threat terrified her into calmness. "I'll bring up the bed-things, sir," she said, with bated breath. "And lose no time," I said, as I mounted the stairs. "I won't, sir." Devlin was smoking when I joined him, and not smoking a pipe, but a cigar with a most delicious fragrance. "Take one," he said, pushing a cigar-case over to me; "you will find them good. I manufactured them while you were away." I bore good-humouredly with his banter, and I took a cigar from the case, but did not immediately light it. "Sent your letter?" he inquired curtly. "Yes." "And my desk?" "Yes." "By Lizzie Melladew's sweetheart?" "Yes." "Not by the other?" "No." "Do they live together?" "Yes." "Do you know where?" "Yes." "Capital!" he said, with the air of a man who had been asking important instead of trivial questions. "There is a knock at the door--a frightened, feminine knock. Enter, my dear Mrs. Lemon, enter." Fanny Lemon came in, smothered with a mattress, sheets, blankets, and pillows, and, without uttering a word, proceeded to make the bed on the floor. "You have brought plenty of pillows, Fanny," I remarked. "I thought you'd like to lay high, sir," she whispered. Devlin broke out into a loud laugh. "Most people do," he said, "while they live. When they die they all lie low--all of them, all of them!" For a moment I thought that Fanny was going to run away, but a look from me restrained her, and she finished making the bed. "Do you wish anything else, sir?" she asked, still in a whisper, and keeping her back to Devlin.