He gallantly kissed my hand, made a neat little speech of acknowledgment, and took his leave.  For the rest of the week I would not encourage Trottle by allowing him to refer to the House at all.  I suspected he was making his own inquiries about dates, but I put no questions to him.

On Monday evening, the thirteenth, that dear unfortunate Jarber came, punctual to the appointed time.  He looked so terribly harassed, that he was really quite a spectacle of feebleness and fatigue.  I saw, at a glance, that the question of dates had gone against him, that Mr. Magsman had not been the last tenant of the House, and that the reason of its emptiness was still to seek.

“What I have gone through,” said Jarber, “words are not eloquent enough to tell.  O Sophonisba, I have begun another series of discoveries!  Accept the last two as stories laid on your shrine; and wait to blame me for leaving your curiosity unappeased, until you have heard Number Three.”

Number Three looked like a very short manuscript, and I said as much.  Jarber explained to me that we were to have some poetry this time.  In the course of his investigations he had stepped into the Circulating Library, to seek for information on the one important subject.  All the Library-people knew about the House was, that a female relative of the last tenant, as they believed, had, just after that tenant left, sent a little manuscript poem to them which she described as referring to events that had actually passed in the House; and which she wanted the proprietor of the Library to publish.  She had written no address on her letter; and the proprietor had kept the manuscript ready to be given back to her (the publishing of poems not being in his line) when she might call for it.  She had never called for it; and the poem had been lent to Jarber, at his express request, to read to me.

Before he began, I rang the bell for Trottle; being determined to have him present at the new reading, as a wholesome check on his obstinacy.  To my surprise Peggy answered the bell, and told me, that Trottle had stepped out without saying where.  I instantly felt the strongest possible conviction that he was at his old tricks:  and that his stepping out in the evening, without leave, meant—­Philandering.

Controlling myself on my visitor’s account, I dismissed Peggy, stifled my indignation, and prepared, as politely as might be, to listen to Jarber.

THREE EVENINGS IN THE HOUSE

NUMBER ONE.

I.

Yes, it look’d dark and dreary
That long and narrow street: 
Only the sound of the rain,
And the tramp of passing feet,
The duller glow of the fire,
And gathering mists of night
To mark how slow and weary
The long day’s cheerless flight!

II.