I had supposed myself alone to be out of bed and Jonah Wall to have slunk off in fear of my anger. But now my meditations were interrupted by his entrance. He crept up to me in an uneasy fashion, but seemed to take courage when I did not break into abuse, but asked him mildly why he had not sought rest and what he wanted with me. His first answer was to implore me to protect him from Mr Darrell's wrath; through Phineas Tate, he told me timidly, he had found grace, and he could deny him nothing; yet, if I bade him, he would not admit him again. "Let him come," said I carelessly. "Besides, we shall not be long here. For you and I are going on a journey, Jonah." "A journey, sir?" "Ay, I go with the Duke of Monmouth, and you go with me, to Dover when the King goes." Now, either Dover was on everybody's brain, or was very sadly on my brain, for I swear even this fellow's eye seemed to brighten as I named the place. "To Dover, sir?" "No less. You shall see all the gaiety there is to be seen, Jonah." The flush of interest had died away; he was dolefully tranquil and submissive again. "Well, what do you want with me?" I asked, for I did not wish him to suspect that I detected any change in his manner. "A lady came here to-day, sir, in a very fine coach with Flemish horses, and asked for you. Hearing you were from home, she called to me and bade me take a message for you. I prayed her to write it, but she laughed, and said she spoke more easily than she wrote; and she bade me say that she wished to see you." "What sort of lady was she, Jonah?" "She sat all the while in the coach, sir, but she seemed not tall; she was very merry, sir." Jonah sighed deeply; with him merriment stood high among the vices of our nature. "She didn't say for what purpose she wanted me?" I asked as carelessly as I could. "No, sir. She said you would know the purpose, and that she would look for you at noon to-morrow." "But where, Jonah?" "At a house called Burford House, sir, in Chelsea." "She gave you no name?" "I asked her name, and she gave me one." "What was it?" "It was a strange heathenish name, and she laughed as she gave it; indeed she laughed all the time." "There's no sin in laughter," said I dryly. "You may leave me, I need no help in undressing." "But the name----" "By Heaven, man, I know the name! Be off with you!" He shuffled off, his whole manner expressing reprobation, whether most of my oath, or of the heathenish name, or of the lady who gave it, I know not. Well, if he were so horror-stricken at these things, what would he say at learning with whom he had talked? Perhaps he would have preached to her, as had Phineas Tate, his master in religion. For, beyond doubt, that heathenish name was Cydaria, and that fine coach with Flemish horses--I left the question of that coach unanswered.