“Ay, it’s just me, Sir Ludovic,” said John. No one could have been more indifferent on this subject than John was. He knew very well that his master was apt to doze the afternoon through--but what of that? It was a privilege of his position, not a misfortune. Old John would gladly have dozed too, and found it entirely natural. He himself took a nap whenever he could get it, and though he would cling with natural vehemence to the fact that he had “not slept a wink,” there was neither shame nor annoyance in his mind at being caught in the act. The signs of old age were not alarming nor troublesome to John; he had a distinct pleasure in perceiving them in his master, and no objection to put them forth for himself, to boast a little of what he still could do “at my age,” and to claim all manner of little exemptions on this score. The old master sat up very erect in his chair, with a great pretence of interest and absorption in his book, to cheat the other’s observations, but the old servant was not to be cheated. He said to himself quite calmly, and to Bell when he went down-stairs, “Sir Ludovic’s getting an auld man.” “No so much aulder than yoursel’,” Bell retorted, promptly. “Was I saying he was much aulder than mysel’? He’s nearer ten years than five--and that makes a great difference; but you women are aye for comparisons,” said John. “I said he was getting an auld man.” How differently the same sentiment mingled with the great stillness in the long room! Sir Ludovic did not want any change; he was well enough, willing to last just as he was, hoping nothing different, satisfied if he could only go on so. But here, creeping about him, irresistible, not even to be kept at arm’s-length or regarded as something outside of himself, were the symptoms of change coming. How erect he sat, how wide-awake he forced himself to look! he would not own to the weakness, and perhaps, who could tell, by mere ignoring, might vanquish--or, at least, appear to vanquish it. But it was not to be forgotten, nor even resisted very effectively. Even John’s movements, the passing of himself or his shadow across the light, the sound of his heavy old leisurely footsteps, the slight clang of the silver and tinkle of the glass as it was put on the table, began to take a certain rhythm, and to lull the listener once more. “There must be something the matter with me,” Sir Ludovic said, as he roused himself once more with an effort, and got up to shake himself free, by movement, from the spell. Movement, that must be what he wanted--a little exercise, which he was aware he had neglected sadly. But now, perhaps, it might be of use. He had to go to prepare for dinner, which was always of use in charming the drowsiness away.