dead man out of his mind in that way.

There was a pewter inkstand on the chimney-piece, with some
mildewed remains of ink in the bottle. There were two coarse
china ornaments of the commonest kind; and there was a square of
embossed card, dirty and fly-blown, with a collection of wretched
riddles printed on it, in all sorts of zigzag directions, and in
variously colored inks. He took the card and went away to read it
at the table on which the candle was placed, sitting down with
his back resolutely turned to the curtained bed.

He read the first riddle, the second, the third, all in one
corner of the card, then turned it round impatiently to look at
another. Before he could begin reading the riddles printed here
the sound of the church clock stopped him.

Eleven.

He had got through an hour of the time in the room with the dead
man.

Once more he looked at the card. It was not easy to make out the
letters printed on it in consequence of the dimness of the light
which the landlord had left him--a common tallow candle,
furnished with a pair of heavy old-fashioned steel snuffers. Up
to this time his mind had been too much occupied to think of the
light. He had left the wick of the candle unsnuffed till it had
risen higher than the flame, and had burned into an odd
pent-house shape at the top, from which morsels of the charred
cotton fell off from time to time in little flakes. He took up