I sat upright in my bed, meaning to wait until the knocks sounded again before I called “Come in.” To my horror, the handle of the door was turned with exquisite caution, and the door was opened stealthily. Burglars! I thought, and instantly looked towards the fender. A short fat man in his shirt, with braces hanging loosely about his breeches, stepped into the room, but on catching sight of me, fell back a step and stood staring. It was O’Twist. The moonlight made him deadly white, and I scarcely knew him in his undress. “What do you want?” I gasped, not doubting that the man had hoped to find me asleep, and to steal my watch and purse, and perhaps to murder me. “I tort I’d look in to see if you were all right, sor,” he answered. “Right! what do you mean? I was asleep.” “Thrue, sor.” Here he advanced, went to the window, pulled down the sash, and drew the curtains. I was so much amazed by his actions that I could barely articulate. Was he walking in his sleep? Impossible. Somnambulists can’t converse. Was he labouring under a sudden and severe access of insanity? Idiot that I was to leave my razor exposed on the dressing table! “What are you doing?” I gurgled. “Preevinting the moon from shoining upon your honour’s head,” he replied, gazing complacently round him, and then moving towards the door. “What’s the moon got to do with you?” I cried. “I always sleep with my window open in summer. How dare you close it without my leave, or enter my room at all?” “Niver moind, sor, niver moind,” he answered soothingly and blandly. “Your honour will be grateful to me in the marning whin you foind oi’ve saved yer from taking cowld.” And so saying, he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. I sprang out of bed in a great passion, pulled back the curtain, flung the sash up, and then went to the door, intending to lock it, and save myself from the villain’s intentions, whatever they were; but to my deep annoyance I found there was no key. To remedy this, I thrust a chair under the handle, and a small table against the chair, and got into bed, puzzling my brains over the fellow’s design, and wondering what my uncle would think, when I told him that his sleek O’Twist was a midnight ruffian. “May I be hanged twenty times over, if I don’t sleep at Updown to-morrow night,” I growled, kicking about under the single sheet, and wishing my uncle Dick, and Teazer, and his house, and his servants, and everything that belonged to him in Jehanum. My anger, however, didn’t prevent me from falling asleep. In truth, I had been thoroughly tired by my journey, my walk from the station, the great heat, and the fatiguing dance my uncle had led me through the grounds. But I was not to sleep long. A violent crash awoke me, and my first impression was that the house had been struck by a thunderbolt.