It was eight o’clock.  Mr. Eden woke and found it almost dark.

He rose immediately.  “Why, I have slept the day away,” thought he in dismay, “and my memorial to the Home Office; it is past post time, and I have not sent it.”  He came hastily downstairs and entered the parlor; he found it in a frightful state.  All the chairs were in the middle of the room, every part of which was choked up except a pathway three feet broad that ran by the side of the wall all round it.  From this path all access into the interior was blocked by the furniture, which now stood upon an area frightfully diminished by this loss of three feet taken from each wall.  Mrs. Davies was a character—­a notable woman.  Mr. Eden’s heart sank at the sight.

To find himself put to rights gives a bachelor an innocent pleasure, but the preliminary process of being put entirely to wrongs crushes his soul.  “Another fanatic let loose on me,” thought he, “and my room is like a road that is just mended, as they call it.”  He peered about here and there through a grove of chairs whose legs were kicking in the air as they sat bosom downward upon their brethren, but he could see no memorial.  He rang the bell and inquired of the servant whether she had seen it.  While he was describing it to her Mrs. Davies broke in: 

“I saw it—­I picked it up off the floor—­it was lying between the sofa and the table.”

“And what did you do with it?”

“Why, dusted it, to be sure.”

“But where did you put it?”

“On the table, I suppose.”

Another search and no memorial.

“Somebody has taken it.”

“But who? has anybody been in this room since?”

“Plenty.  You don’t get much peace here, I should say; but Susan gave the order you were not to be disturbed.”

“This won’t do,” thought Mr. Eden.

“Who has been here?” said he to the servant.

“Mr. Fry is the only one that came into this room.”

“Mr. Fry!” said Mr. Eden, with some surprise.

“Ay! ay!” cried Mrs. Davies.  “I remember now there was an ill-looking fellow of that name here talking to me, pretending you had promised him a book.”

“But I did promise him a book.”

“Oh, you did, did you! well he looked like a thief, perhaps he has—­goodness gracious me, I hope there was no money in it,” and Mrs. Davies lost her ruddy color in a moment.

“No! no! it was only a letter, but of great importance.”

Another violent search at the risk of shins and hands.

“That Fry has taken it.  I never saw such a hang-dog looking fellow.”

Mr. Eden was much vexed; but he had a trick of blaming himself, Heaven only knows where he caught it.  “My own forgetfulness; even if the paper had not been lost I had allowed post-time to go by—­and Mr. Hawes will anticipate me with the Home Secretary.”  He sighed.

In so severe a struggle he was almost as reluctant to give an unfair advantage as to take one.