It was late when Mr. Brudenell fell asleep—­so late that he overslept himself in the morning.  And when at last he awoke he was surprised to find that it was ten o’clock.

But Judge Merlin’s house was “liberty hall.”  His guests breakfasted when they got up, and got up when they awoke.  It was one of his crochets never to have anyone awakened.  He said that when people had had sleep enough, they would awaken of themselves, and to awaken them before that was an injurious interference with nature.  And his standing order in regard to himself was, that no one should ever arouse him from sleep unless the house was on fire, or someone at the point of death.  And woe betide anyone who should disregard this order!

So Mr. Brudenell had been allowed to sleep until he woke up at ten o’clock, and when he went downstairs at eleven he found a warm breakfast awaiting him, and the little housewife, Bee, presiding over the coffee.

As Bee poured out his coffee she informed him, in answer to his remarks, that all the members of the family had breakfasted and gone about their several affairs.  The judge and Ishmael had gone to court, and Mrs. Middleton and Claudia on a shopping expedition; but they would all be back at the luncheon hour, which was two o’clock.

CHAPTER LX.

HERMAN AND HANNAH.

  She had the passions of her herd. 
    She spake some bitter truths that day,
  Indeed he caught one ugly word,
    Was scarcely fit for her to say!

  —­Anon.

When breakfast was over Mr. Brudenell took his hat and walked down the Avenue to Seventh Street, and to the Farmer’s in search of Hannah.

In answer to his inquiries he was told that she was in, and he was desired to walk up to her room.  A servant preceding him, opened a door, and said: 

“Here is a ge’man to see you, mum.”

And Mr. Brudenell entered.

Hannah looked, dropped the needlework she held in her hand, started up, overturning the chair, and with a stare of consternation exclaimed: 

“The Lord deliver us! is it you?  And hasn’t the devil got you yet, Herman Brudenell?”

“It is I, Hannah,” he answered, dropping without invitation into the nearest seat.

“And what on earth have you come for, after all these years?” she asked, continuing to stare at him.

“To see you, Hannah.”

“And what in the name of common sense do you want to see me for?  I don’t want to see you; that I tell you plainly; for I’d just as lief see Old Nick!”

“Hannah,” said Herman Brudenell, with an unusual assumption of dignity, “I have come to speak to you about—­Are you quite alone?” he suddenly broke off and inquired, cautiously glancing around the room.

“What’s that to you?  What can you have to say to me that you could not shout from the housetop?  Yes, I’m alone, if you must know!”