CHAPTER V.

IN WHICH MY SLUMBER IS DISTURBED.


The ladies had accomplished their ascension to the upper regions. The
good vicar had marched off with the major, who was by this time
unbuckling in his lodgings; and Chelford and I, _tete-a-tete_, had a
glass of sherry and water together in the drawing-room before parting.
And over this temperate beverage I told him frankly the nature of the
service which Mark Wylder wished me to render him; and he as frankly
approved, and said he would ask Larkin, the family lawyer, to come up in
the morning to assist.

The more I saw of this modest, refined, and manly peer, the more I liked
him. There was a certain courteous frankness, and a fine old English
sense of duty perceptible in all his serious talk. So I felt no longer
like a conspirator, and was to offer such advice as might seem expedient,
with the clear approbation of Miss Brandon's trustee. And this point
clearly settled, I avowed myself a little tired; and lighting our candles
at the foot of the stairs, we scaled that long ascent together, and he
conducted me through the intricacies of the devious lobbies up stairs to
my chamber-door, where he bid me good-night, shook hands, and descended
to his own quarters.

My room was large and old-fashioned, but snug; and I, beginning to grow
very drowsy, was not long in getting to bed, where I fell asleep
indescribably quickly.