de Medici; and Robertson’s Charles the fifth—­all classical works; all (of course) immeasurably superior to anything produced in later times; and all (from my present point of view) possessing the one great merit of enchaining nobody’s interest, and exciting nobody’s brain.  I left Mr. Blake to the composing influence of Standard Literature, and occupied myself in making this entry in my journal.

My watch informs me that it is close on eleven o’clock.  I must shut up these leaves once more.

* * * * *

Two o’clock A.M.—­The experiment has been tried.  With what result, I am now to describe.

At eleven o’clock, I rang the bell for Betteredge, and told Mr. Blake that he might at last prepare himself for bed.

I looked out of the window at the night.  It was mild and rainy, resembling, in this respect, the night of the birthday—­the twenty-first of June, last year.  Without professing to believe in omens, it was at least encouraging to find no direct nervous influences—­no stormy or electric perturbations—­in the atmosphere.  Betteredge joined me at the window, and mysteriously put a little slip of paper into my hand.  It contained these lines: 

“Mrs. Merridew has gone to bed, on the distinct understanding that the explosion is to take place at nine to-morrow morning, and that I am not to stir out of this part of the house until she comes and sets me free.  She has no idea that the chief scene of the experiment is my sitting-room—­or she would have remained in it for the whole night!  I am alone, and very anxious.  Pray let me see you measure out the laudanum; I want to have something to do with it, even in the unimportant character of a mere looker-on.—­R.V.”

I followed Betteredge out of the room, and told him to remove the medicine-chest into Miss Verinder’s sitting-room.

The order appeared to take him completely by surprise.  He looked as if he suspected me of some occult medical design on Miss Verinder!  “Might I presume to ask,” he said, “what my young lady and the medicine-chest have got to do with each other?”

“Stay in the sitting-room, and you will see.”

Betteredge appeared to doubt his own unaided capacity to superintend me effectually, on an occasion when a medicine-chest was included in the proceedings.

“Is there any objection, sir” he asked, “to taking Mr. Bruff into this part of the business?”

“Quite the contrary!  I am now going to ask Mr. Bruff to accompany me down-stairs.”

Betteredge withdrew to fetch the medicine-chest, without another word.  I went back into Mr. Blake’s room, and knocked at the door of communication.  Mr. Bruff opened it, with his papers in his hand—­immersed in Law; impenetrable to Medicine.

“I am sorry to disturb you,” I said.  “But I am going to prepare the laudanum for Mr. Blake; and I must request you to be present, and to see what I do.”