‘Ah, that’s another matter,’ said Stockdale.  ’Sleeplessness to such an alarming extent is real illness.  Have you spoken to a doctor?’

‘O no—­there is no need for doing that—­it is all natural to me.’  And she went away without further remark.

Stockdale might have waited a long time to know the real cause of her sleeplessness, had it not happened that one dark night he was sitting in his bedroom jotting down notes for a sermon, which occupied him perfunctorily for a considerable time after the other members of the household had retired.  He did not get to bed till one o’clock.  Before he had fallen asleep he heard a knocking at the front door, first rather timidly performed, and then louder.  Nobody answered it, and the person knocked again.  As the house still remained undisturbed, Stockdale got out of bed, went to his window, which overlooked the door, and opening it, asked who was there.

A young woman’s voice replied that Susan Wallis was there, and that she had come to ask if Mrs. Newberry could give her some mustard to make a plaster with, as her father was taken very ill on the chest.

The minister, having neither bell nor servant, was compelled to act in person.  ‘I will call Mrs. Newberry,’ he said.  Partly dressing himself; he went along the passage and tapped at Lizzy’s door.  She did not answer, and, thinking of her erratic habits in the matter of sleep, he thumped the door persistently, when he discovered, by its moving ajar under his knocking, that it had only been gently pushed to.  As there was now a sufficient entry for the voice, he knocked no longer, but said in firm tones, ‘Mrs. Newberry, you are wanted.’

The room was quite silent; not a breathing, not a rustle, came from any part of it.  Stockdale now sent a positive shout through the open space of the door:  ’Mrs. Newberry!’—­still no answer, or movement of any kind within.  Then he heard sounds from the opposite room, that of Lizzy’s mother, as if she had been aroused by his uproar though Lizzy had not, and was dressing herself hastily.  Stockdale softly closed the younger woman’s door and went on to the other, which was opened by Mrs. Simpkins before he could reach it.  She was in her ordinary clothes, and had a light in her hand.

‘What’s the person calling about?’ she said in alarm.

Stockdale told the girl’s errand, adding seriously, ’I cannot wake Mrs. Newberry.’

‘It is no matter,’ said her mother.  ’I can let the girl have what she wants as well as my daughter.’  And she came out of the room and went downstairs.

Stockdale retired towards his own apartment, saying, however, to Mrs. Simpkins from the landing, as if on second thoughts, ’I suppose there is nothing the matter with Mrs. Newberry, that I could not wake her?’

‘O no,’ said the old lady hastily.  ‘Nothing at all.’

Still the minister was not satisfied.  ‘Will you go in and see?’ he said.  ‘I should be much more at ease.’