on a heap of half-consumed clothes pulled from the wall. He had not
only drenched them with water from bowl and pitcher, but had also
cast those articles upon the pile like extinguishers, and was
skipping among the fragments with an agility which contrasted with
his stout figure in full evening costume, and his besmirched face,
made the sight irresistibly ludicrous.

Mrs. Stuart, though in her most regal array, seemed to have left her
dignity downstairs with her opera cloak, for with skirts gathered
closely about her, tiara all askew, and face full of fear and anger,
she stood upon a chair and scolded like any shrew.

The comic overpowered the tragic, and being a little hysterical with
the sudden alarm, Christie broke into a peal of laughter that sealed
her fate.

"Look at her! look at her!" cried Mrs. Stuart gesticulating on her
perch as if about to fly. "She has been at the wine, or lost her
wits. She must go, Horatio, she must go! I cannot have my nerves
shattered by such dreadful scenes. She is too fond of books, and it
has turned her brain. Hepsey can watch her to-night, and at dawn she
shall leave the house for ever."

"Not till after breakfast, my dear. Let us have that in comfort I
beg, for upon my soul we shall need it," panted Mr. Stuart, sinking
into a chair exhausted with the vigorous measures which had quenched
the conflagration.

Christie checked her untimely mirth, explained the probable cause of
the mischief, and penitently promised to be more careful for the