"Aye, aye," said Merton, doubtfully, and starting upright again, while
he concealed in his bosom what he had been in search of. "Near morning,
is it? Night and morning, it is all one to me. I believe I am going
mad, by--"

"But what do you want? What did you come here for at this hour?"
persisted the man.

"What! Aye, that is it; why, his boots and spurs, to be sure. I
forgot them. His--his--Sir Wynston's boots and spurs; I forgot to
take them, I say," said Merton, looking toward the dressing room, as
if about to enter it.

"Don't mind them tonight, I say, don't go in there," said the man,
peremptorily, and getting out upon the floor. "I say, Mr. Merton, this is
no hour to be going about searching in the dark for boots and spurs.
You'll waken the master. I can't have it, I say; go down, and let it be
for tonight."

Thus speaking, in a resolute and somewhat angry under-key, the valet
stood between Merton and the entrance of the dressing-room; and, signing
with his hand toward the other door of the apartment, continued--

"Go down, I say, Mr. Merton, go down; you may as well quietly, for, I
tell you plainly, you shall neither go a step further, nor stay here a
moment longer."

The man drew his shoulders up, and made a sort of shivering moan, and
clasping his hands together, shook them, as it seemed, in great agony. He