Monson outside a few minutes ago knocking at my

door?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you sure?p

“Mrs. Monson’s gone to market, and there’s no one but me and the

child in the ‘ole ‘ouse, and I’ve been washing the dishes for the last

hour, sir.”

I fancied the girl’s face turned a shade paler. She fidgeted

towards the door with a glance over her shoulder.

“Wait, Emily,” I said, and then told her what I had heard. She

stared stupidly at me, though her eyes shifted now and then over the

articles in the room.

“Who was it? “I asked when I had come to the end. “Mrs. Monson says

it’s honly mice,” she said, as if repeating a learned lesson.

“Mice!” I exclaimed; “it’s nothing of the sort. Someone was feeling

about outside my door.

Who was it? Is the son in the house?”

Her whole manner changed suddenly, and she became earnest instead

of evasive. She seemed anxious to tell the truth.

“Oh no, sir; there’s no one in the house at all but you and me and

the child, and there couldn’t ‘ave been nobody at your door. As for

them knocks—” She stopped abruptly, as though she had said too much.

“Well, what about the knocks?” I said more gently.

“Of course,” she stammered, “the knocks isn’t mice, nor the

footsteps neither, but then—”

Again she came to a full halt.

“Anything wrong with the house?”

“Lor’, no, sir; the drains is splendid!”

“I don’t mean drains, girl. I mean, did anything—anything bad ever

happen here?”

She flushed up to the roots of her hair, and then turned suddenly

pale again. She was obviously in considerable distress, and there was

something she was anxious, yet afraid to tell— some forbidden thing

she was not allowed to mention.

“I don’t mind what it was, only I should like to know,” I said

encouragingly.

Raising her frightened eyes to my face, she began to blurt out

something about “that which ‘appened once to a gentleman that lived

hupstairs”, when a shrill voice calling her name sounded below.

“Emily, Emily!” It was the returning landlady, and the girl tumbled

downstairs as if pulled backwards by a rope, leaving me full of

conjectures as to what in the world could have happened to a gentleman

upstairs that could in so curious a manner affect my ears downstairs.

Nov. 10.—I have done capital work; have finished the ponderous

article and had it accepted for the Review, and another one ordered. I

feel well and cheerful, and have had regular exercise and good sleep;

no headaches, no nerves, no liver! Those pills the chemist recommended

are.wonderful. I can watch the child playing with his cart and feel no

annoyance; sometimes I almost feel inclined to join him. Even the

grey-faced landlady rouses pity in me; I am sorry for her: so worn, so

weary, so oddly put together, just like the building. She looks as if

she had once suffered some shock of terror, and was momentarily

dreading another. When I spoke to her to-day very gently about not

putting the pens in the ash-tray and the gloves on the hook-shelf she

raised her faint eyes to mine for the first time, and said with the

ghost of a smile, “I’ll try and remember, sir.” I felt inclined to

pat her on the back and say, “Come, cheer up and be jolly. Life’s not

so bad after all.” Oh! I am much better.