never to burn to an end, three to the pound."

Constance made no reply. Judith gathered breath, and continued:

"I took upon myself to speak to him. I told him it wasn't well for
anybody's health, to sit up at night, in that fashion; not counting the
danger he ran of setting the house on fire and burning us all to
cinders in our beds. He laughed--you know his way, Miss Constance--and
said he'd take care of his health and of the house, and I was just to
make myself easy and hold my tongue, and that _I_ need not be uneasy
about fire, for I could open my window and drop into the rain-water
barrel, and there I should be safe. But, in spite of his joking tone,
there ran through it a sound of command; and, from that hour to this, I
have never opened my lips about it to anybody living."

"And he burns the light still?"

"Except Saturday and Sunday nights, it's always alight, longer or
shorter. Them two nights, he gets into bed respectable, as the rest of
the house do. You have noticed, Miss Constance, that, the evenings he
is not out, he'll go up to his chamber by half-past nine or ten?"

"Frequently," assented Constance. "As soon as the reading is over, he
will wish us good night."

"Well, them nights, when he goes up early, he puts his light out
sooner--by twelve, or by half-past, or by one; but when he spends his
evenings out, not getting home until eleven, he'll have it burning till
two or three in the morning."