"Why, Bethesdy!" said Mrs. Minchin, taking the freedom of an old schoolmate, "we thought you was lost, for sure, goin' off with Mr. Bradford that way!" "Did!" replied Miss Bethesda. "Please take your partners to go down to supper!" The guests, with one exception, were gone. The lights were out in the long ballroom, and the old clock resumed its solitary sway, thankful that the noisy scraping of the fiddle was over. As Miss Bethesda closed the door behind her the clock struck two, and softly, timidly, stole forth the notes of the fairy waltz, as elves, waiting for their forest revels, might steal from their hiding-places when the clumsy foot of man has ceased to echo in their sacred green places. "La-la-la, la-lira-la!" and who could tell what gentle ghosts were now gliding forward in the dance? But Miss Bethesda never thought of ghosts. She had to lay a spirit, it was true, but there was little of ghostly about it. Perhaps she felt some trepidation at the thought of what was before her, and as she listened to Iry's muttered words concerning the mental status of the one guest remaining in the Inn. But she gave no sign, only told Iry to go to bed, and leave his door open, in case she should want to call him. She took a tray, and covering it with one of her finest napkins, proceeded to lay out a dainty supper, such as she well knew how to prepare. What had Buckstone liked best, in the old times? She guessed a little of that lobster salad would be about right, and half-a-dozen rolls, feathery and unsubstantial as baked morning cloud; then a whip,--he always liked a tall whip, with raspberry jam at the bottom! and a slice of plum-cake, and,--well, a glass of cherry-brandy might do no harm, if they _were_ both temperance folks. He'd be some tired, likely, raging and routing round the way he had been, from what Iry said. And so Miss Bethesda, like the bold woman she was, unlocked the sitting-room door, and entered the lion's den. She expected a rush, and held her tray firmly; but no rush came. The lion was sitting huddled up in a great chair, with his foot on another chair before him. At first Miss Bethesda thought he was asleep; but catching the sombre glare of his dark eyes, she set the tray down carefully, and faced her guest with folded hands and apparent composure. "How are you feeling, Mr. Bradford?" she asked, seeing, with some compunction, how pale he was. "My leg is broke!" was the grim reply, "and I'm injured some inside, most probably bleeding; but otherwise I'm well, Miss Pool, and much obleeged to _you_!" "You're welcome!" said Bethesda, with a flash; and then she went down on her knees, and manipulated him skilfully.