‘It was in vain to go behind the slumber’s chair and shake him. One o’clock sounded, and I was present to the elder man, and he stood transfixed before me. ‘To him alone, I was obliged to relate my story, without hope of benefit. To him alone, I was an awful phantom making a quite useless confession. I foresee it will ever be the same. The two living men together will never come to release me. When I appear, the senses of one of the two will be locked in sleep; he will neither see nor hear me; my communication will ever be made to a solitary listener, and will ever be unserviceable. Woe! Woe! Woe!’ As the Two old men, with these words, wrung their hands, it shot into Mr. Goodchild’s mind that he was in the terrible situation of being virtually alone with the spectre, and that Mr. Idle’s immoveability was explained by his having been charmed asleep at One o’clock. In the terror of this sudden discovery which produced an indescribable dread, he struggled so hard to get free from the four fiery threads, that he snapped them, after he had pulled them out to a great width. Being then out of bonds, he caught up Mr. Idle from the sofa and rushed down-stairs with him. * * * * * ‘What are you about, Francis?’ demanded Mr. Idle. ‘My bedroom is not down here. What the deuce are you carrying me at all for? I can walk with a stick now. I don’t want to be carried. Put me down.’ Mr. Goodchild put him down in the old hall, and looked about him wildly. ‘What are you doing? Idiotically plunging at your own sex, and rescuing them or perishing in the attempt?’ asked Mr. Idle, in a highly petulant state. ‘The One old man!’ cried Mr. Goodchild, distractedly,—‘and the Two old men!’ Mr. Idle deigned no other reply than ‘The One old woman, I think you mean,’ as he began hobbling his way back up the staircase, with the assistance of its broad balustrade. ‘I assure you, Tom,’ began Mr. Goodchild, attending at his side, ‘that since you fell asleep—’ ‘Come, I like that!’ said Thomas Idle, ‘I haven’t closed an eye!’