His supper finished, and a great wave of sleepiness threatening to overwhelm him, he called for his henchman and demanded guidance to his bedroom. Up the broad stairway Dennis, bearing a candlestick in either hand, preceded him, and his drowsiness inclined him there and then to little observation of the passages by which he passed. But presently he was aware of standing in a great gusty room, strongly shuttered like the one below, and having for its one conspicuous piece of furniture a mighty four-poster, with curtains and tester of heavy, faded brocade. Dismissing his guide with a curt “good-night,” he crawled shortly between sheets fragrant of lavender, and fell almost at once into a profound slumber. He woke in the morning to the sound of a tap on his door panels. “Come in!” he groaned--for his head was like lead with the close atmosphere of the room. A broad spurt of light flooded him from the opened door, and Dennis entered with shaving water and a towel. “Ah!” said Tuke, recollecting himself. “It’s you, is it? Oblige me, my friend, by flinging open those shutters. And for the future, refrain from closing them at night.” The man did as he was ordered, and then paused. “Sir,” said he, with the same painful hesitancy of manner--“if I may presume--pray let me entreat you to reconsider the question.” The other raised his head in staring surprise. “What question?” said he. “That of opening the shutters at night.” Mr. Tuke sprang up into a sitting posture, with an oath. “What the devil!” he cried. “Are you to begin by disputing my orders?” “But----” “Leave the room, sir.” When he was alone--“Mr. Whimple,” muttered he, “you must have that hang-dog mouth muzzled if you are to stop.” He looked forth through the broad-latticed casement. It was a fair, still morning, and the sun made idyllic glory of what had overnight appeared so haunted and so sombre. The house lay, so far as he could make out, in a wide basin of ground cut out of the heart of a thronging woodland, and must from its position be very private and remote. Before him was stretched a noble lawn, with a couple of gnarled and buttressed oaks to break its greenness; but the grass was a foot long, and so weighted with dew that a kilderkin of sweet water might have been gathered from it. To his right he saw the opening of the drive by which he had come to his own. This, so far as he could see down it, was less an avenue than a passage driven through a wood, and all over its mossy floor the light fell in brilliant smears and patches, as if the branches dripped green fire. Elsewhere, on every side visible, were trees; but with, here and there, scant openings in them. They closed in the further line of the lawn; they packed the hollows and mounted the slopes; in every direction they filled the prospect with an ardent leafiness.