by himself, and he and his friend therefore walked into the front
room together. It was in complete order, although it was so early in
the morning. Everything was dusted; even the lower fire-bar had not
a speck of ashes on it, and on the hob already was a saucepan in
which Mrs. Coleman proposed to cook the one o'clock dinner. On the
walls were portraits of Sir Francis Burdett, Major Cartwright, and
the mezzotint engraving of Sadler's Bunyan. Two black silhouettes--
one of Zachariah and the other of his wife--were suspended on each
side of the mantelpiece.

Mrs. Coleman was busily engaged in the bedroom, but hearing the
footsteps, she immediately entered. She was slightly taken aback at
seeing Zachariah in such a plight, and uttered a little scream, but
the bottle-green stranger, making her a profound bow, arrested her.

"Pardon me, my dear madam, there is nothing seriously the matter.
Your husband has had the misfortune to be the victim of a most
blackguardly assault; but I am sure that, under your care, he will be
all right in a day or two; and, with your permission, I take my
leave."

Mrs. Coleman was irritated. The first emotion was not sympathy.
Absolutely the first was annoyance at being seen without proper
notice by such a fine-looking gentleman. She had, however, no real
cause for vexation under this head. She had tied a white
handkerchief over her hair, fastening it under her chin, as her
manner was when doing her morning's work, and she had on her white
apron; but she was trim and faultless, and the white handkerchief did
but set off her black hair and marble complexion. Her second
emotion, too, was not sympathy. Zachariah was at home at the wrong