The other way seemed to be very far off. Mr. Pellet took his eyes from the hedge, and his hands from his knees; but only to fix them on the same places again. The stump of the tree was as uneasy a seat as its once green and flourishing topmost bough must have been, to judge by the restlessness that was upon him as he sat there. "Could I say I dreamt it?" cried he, suddenly, ceasing his shuffling, and holding his head bolt upright. "_Could_ I? I don't see any other way. Let's think it out a bit." The thinking out took a tolerably long time yet, and Mr. Pellet did not seem altogether to like his idea. It was very nearly dark when he at length rose from the stump, sighing heavily. "I must be uncommonly cautious," said he. "But it's just one of those ticklish things that admit of no openings but one. If Rosaline got to know that I saw--and told--she'd just fling me over for ever. I think a word or two of suspicion will be enough to drive him away, and that's all I want." Now, in the main, Blase Pellet was not a hard-hearted or vindictive young man. His resentment against Frank Raynor arose from jealousy. Even that resentment, bitter though it was, he did not intend, or wish, to gratify to anything like its full extent. Believing that certain testimony of his could place Frank's neck in jeopardy, he might surely be given credit for holding his tongue. It is true that his caution arose from mixed motives: the dread of exasperating or in any way compromising Rosaline; the dislike to mixing himself up with the doings of that past night; and the genuine horror of bringing any man to so dire a punishment, even though that man were Frank Raynor. Pondering upon these various doubts and difficulties, and failing to feel reassured upon them in his own mind--or rather upon the result if he moved in the matter--Mr. Pellet went slowly home through the dark and deserted street; and ascended straight to his chamber, which was an attic in the roof. There, he came to an anchor by the side of his low bed in much the same musing attitude that he had sat on the tree-stump, and "thought it out" again. "Yes, it must be a dream," he decided at length, beginning to take off his coat preparatory to retiring. "There is no other way. I must not say I was there and saw it--they'd turn round upon me and cry, Why did you not tell at the time?--and what could I answer? Moreover, I can't, and I won't bring in Rosaline's name--which I should have to do if I stated the truth outright. But I can say I dreamt that Bell is lying at the bottom of the shaft; and keep up the commotion for a short while. They can't turn round on me for _that_. Folks do dream, as all the world knows." With this final resolve, Mr. Blase Pellet retired to bed, to dream real dreams instead of inventing them.