Sharp words will move where entreaty cannot stir. Mrs. Major relaxed her hold; spun round. “Monster” and “Perjurer” rushed headlong to her lips. “Ponsger!” she cried; tottered back against the sofa; was struck by it at the bend of her knees; collapsed upon it. Her head sunk sideways; she closed her eyes. “You can see for yourself,” George said. Mr. Marrapit sniffed: “My nose corroborates.” “Ponsger!” the prone figure wailed. Mr. Marrapit started: “Mrs. Major!” She opened her eyes: “Call me Lucy. Darling-_um!_” She began to snore. “Abhorrent!” Mr. Marrapit pronounced. Whisperings without made him step to the door. White figures were upon the stairs. “To your beds!” he cried. “Oh, whatever is it, sir?” Mrs. Armitage panted. “Away! You outrage decency.” Mr. Marrapit set a foot upon the stairs. The affrighted figures fled before him. George, when his uncle returned, was peering through the blind. “Who the devil loosed off that gun? It is immaterial. All events are buried beneath this abhorrent incident. The roof of my peace has crashed about me.” Mr. Marrapit regarded the prone figure. “Her inspirations grate upon me; her exhalations poison the air. Rouse her. Thrust her to her room.” “You'll never wake her now till she's slept it off.” “Let us then essay to carry her. She cannot remain here. My shame shall not be revealed, nor hers uncovered.” George began: “To-morrow--” “To-morrow I speed her from my gates. My beloved cats have been in the care of this swinish form. They have been in jeopardy. I tremble at their escape. To-morrow she departs.” A sudden tremendous idea swept over George, engulfing speech. With no word he moved to the sofa; grasped the prone figure; put it upon its weak legs. They gave beneath it. “You must take her feet,” he said. Averting his gaze, Mr. Marrapit took the legs that Old Tom had devitalised. The procession moved out; staggered up the stairs. Heavy was the burden; bursting with vulgar laughter was George; but that huge idea that suddenly had come to him swelled his muscles, lent him strength. He heaved the form upon the bed. On the dressing-table a candle burned. By its light Mr. Marrapit discovered Old Tom's bottle, two fingers of the villain yet remaining. He beat his breast. “Extinguish that light. I to my room. Seek Fletcher. He patrols the garden for malefactors. In the morning I will see you. Before this disaster my chill is sped. You are of my flesh. Cleave unto me. In our bosoms let this abhorrent sore be buried. Seek Fletcher.” The distraught man tottered to his room. XI.