breasts with cold, while many a pampered lady grows peevish and
irritated, if Dobbs forgets the jars of warm water for the end of her
cosy bed. Merciful God! and _this_ is to live! But no! _this_ is to
dream!

I said it was night, so it was, but the heavy curtains were drawn, the
gas was lighted, the grate-fire roared up the chimney, the lounge was
supplied with its cushions, the _fauteuil_ was drawn up to the
fender-stool, the decanter and glass stood on the silver salver and in
his velvet slippers and embroidered cap, Henry Rayne smoked the "pipe of
peace" before his cheerful fire. As we intrude upon him in his
sanctuary, he lays down his meerschaum, stretches his toasted limbs, and
extending his hand touches the little silver bell on the table beside
him; simultaneously, good old Mrs. Potts' slippers clap up the basement
stairs, and her head popping in at the door, betrays her face full of
broad smiles as she utters her well learned words of announcement.

"Is't annything ye'd be wantin sur?"

"Yes Potts," Rayne answers, still lying back among his crimson cushions,
"Go and ask Fitts if he called for the mail at my office to-day. He
knows what his duty is when I am not well enough to be stirring"

"Och, doan't fret Misther Rayne sur, shure he did bring the little
bundles, ivery wan o' them, an' it's meself jest knows whare to lay the
palm o' me hand on 'em this very minit 'idout troubln Mr. Fitts at all,
at all," and away she darted again on a clatter down the inlaid passage
to the letter box, and gathering up the contents, brought them back to
her master's sitting-room. She was eyeing them closely as she laid them
down beside him, exclaiming half audibly as she did so "Well now thin: