to borrow an easy-chair; he had not had that long, when he made up his mind to borrow a bookcase; then, a couch; then, a carpet and rug.  By that time, he felt he was “in furniture stepped in so far,” as that it could be no worse to borrow it all.  Consequently, he borrowed it all, and locked up the cellar for good.  He had always locked it, after every visit.  He had carried up every separate article in the dead of night, and, at the best, had felt as wicked as a Resurrection Man.  Every article was blue and furry when brought into his rooms, and he had had, in a murderous and guilty sort of way, to polish it up while London slept.

Mr. Testator lived in his furnished chambers two or three years, or more, and gradually lulled himself into the opinion that the furniture was his own.  This was his convenient state of mind when, late one night, a step came up the stairs, and a hand passed over his door feeling for his knocker, and then one deep and solemn rap was rapped that might have been a spring in Mr. Testator’s easy-chair to shoot him out of it; so promptly was it attended with that effect.

With a candle in his hand, Mr. Testator went to the door, and found there a very pale and very tall man; a man who stooped; a man with very high shoulders, a very narrow chest, and a very red nose; a shabby-genteel man.  He was wrapped in a long threadbare black coat, fastened up the front with more pins than buttons, and under his arm he squeezed an umbrella without a handle, as if he were playing bagpipes.  He said, “I beg your pardon, but can you tell me—­” and stopped; his eyes resting on some object within the chambers.

“Can I tell you what?” asked Mr. Testator, noting his stoppage with quick alarm.

“I ask your pardon,” said the stranger, “but—­this is not the inquiry I was going to make—­do I see in there, any small article of property belonging to me?”

Mr. Testator was beginning to stammer that he was not aware—­when the visitor slipped past him into the chambers.  There, in a goblin way which froze Mr. Testator to the marrow, he examined, first, the writing-table, and said, “Mine”; then, the easy-chair, and said, “Mine”; then, the bookcase, and said, “Mine”; then, turned up a corner of the carpet, and said “Mine!”—­in a word, inspected every item of furniture from the cellar, in succession, and said, “Mine!” Towards the end of this investigation Mr. Testator perceived that he was sodden with liquor, and that the liquor was gin.  He was not unsteady with gin, either in his speech or carriage; but he was stiff with gin in both particulars.

Mr. Testator was in a dreadful state, for (according to his making out of the story) the possible consequences of what he had done in recklessness and hardihood, flashed upon him in their fulness for the first time.  When they had stood gazing at one another for a little while, he tremulously began: 

“Sir, I am conscious that the fullest explanation, compensation, and restitution, are your due.  They shall be yours.  Allow me to entreat that, without temper, without even natural irritation on your part, we may have a little—­’