“Thank y’, Mistuh Tom.  You’re a gentleman, suh, an’ wo’thy er de fam’ly name.  Good-night, suh, an’ I hope yo’ dreams ’ll be pleasanter ‘n’ mine.  Ef it wa’n’t fer dis gol’ kinder takin’ my min’ off’n dat ha’nt, I don’ s’pose I’d be able to do much sleepin’ ter-night.  Good-night, suh.”

“Good-night, Sandy.”

Whether or not Delamere slept soundly, or was troubled by dreams, pleasant or unpleasant, it is nevertheless true that he locked his door, and sat up an hour later, looking through the drawers of his bureau, and burning several articles in the little iron stove which constituted part of the bedroom furniture.

It is also true that he rose very early, before the household was stirring.  The cook slept in a room off the kitchen, which was in an outhouse in the back yard.  She was just stretching herself, preparatory to getting up, when Tom came to her window and said that he was going off fishing, to be gone all day, and that he would not wait for breakfast.

XIX

A MIDNIGHT WALK

Ellis left the office of the Morning Chronicle about eleven o’clock the same evening and set out to walk home.  His boarding-house was only a short distance beyond old Mr. Delamere’s residence, and while he might have saved time and labor by a slightly shorter route, he generally selected this one because it led also by Major Carteret’s house.  Sometimes there would be a ray of light from Clara’s room, which was on one of the front corners; and at any rate he would have the pleasure of gazing at the outside of the casket that enshrined the jewel of his heart.  It was true that this purely sentimental pleasure was sometimes dashed with bitterness at the thought of his rival; but one in love must take the bitter with the sweet, and who would say that a spice of jealousy does not add a certain zest to love?  On this particular evening, however, he was in a hopeful mood.  At the Clarendon Club, where he had gone, a couple of hours before, to verify a certain news item for the morning paper, he had heard a story about Tom Delamere which, he imagined, would spike that gentleman’s guns for all time, so far as Miss Pemberton was concerned.  So grave an affair as cheating at cards could never be kept secret,—­it was certain to reach her ears; and Ellis was morally certain that Clara would never marry a man who had been proved dishonorable.  In all probability there would be no great sensation about the matter.  Delamere was too well connected; too many prominent people would be involved—­even Clara, and the editor himself, of whom Delamere was a distant cousin.  The reputation of the club was also to be considered.  Ellis was not the man to feel a malicious delight in the misfortunes of another, nor was he a pessimist who welcomed scandal and disgrace with open arms, as confirming a gloomy theory of human life.  But, with the best intentions in the world, it was no more than human nature that he should feel a certain elation in the thought that his rival had been practically disposed of, and the field left clear; especially since this good situation had been brought about merely by the unmasking of a hypocrite, who had held him at an unfair disadvantage in the race for Clara’s favor.