“I shall not trouble him with my petition.  I discovered by accident, when I was a child, that the key of the north room would open that door.  If I order, upon my own responsibility, that a cup of hot coffee, and some bread and meat be taken up to him, you will not deny them to me, I suppose?”

“Certainly not, my child! but I dare not send a servant with them.  Winston’s orders were positive—­they all tell me—­that not a soul should attempt to hold communication with him.  And what he says he means.”

“Then,” replied Winston’s sister, with a spark of his spirit, “I will take the waiter up myself.  I cannot sleep with this horror hanging over me—­the fear lest, through my neglect or cowardice, a fellow-being—­whose only offence against society, so far as we knows is his dropping down in a faint or stupor under a hedge on the Ridgeley plantation—­should lose his life.”

“Your feelings are only what I should expect from you, my love; but think twice before you go up-stairs yourself!  It would be considered an outrageous impropriety, were it found out.”

“Less outrageous than to let a stranger perish for want of such attention as one would vouchsafe to a stray dog?” questioned Mabel, with a queer smile.  “Roger! pour me out a bowl of coffee at once.  Put it on a waiter with a plate of bread and butter—­or stay! oysters will be more warming and nourishing.  I am very sure that Daphne is keeping a saucepanful hot for her supper and yours.  Hurry!”

The waiter, whose wife was the cook, ducked his head with a grin confirmatory of his young mistress’ shrewd suspicion, and vanished to obey her orders, never dreaming but she wanted the edibles for her private consumption.  He enjoyed late and hot suppers, and why not she?  Thanks to this persuasion, the coffee was strong, clear, and boiling, the oysters done to a turn, and smoking from the saucepan.

Taking the tray from him, with a gracious “Thank you!  This is just as it should be,” Mabel negatived his offer to carry it to her room, and started up-stairs.

Mrs. Sutton followed with a lighted candle.

“Winston or no Winston, you shall not face that desperado alone,” she said, obstinately.  “There is no telling what he may do—­murder you, perhaps, or at least knock you down in order to escape.  Winston talks as if he were the captain of the forty thieves."’

“He is pretty well hors de combat now, at any rate,” smiled Mabel, but allowing her aunt to precede her with the light to the upper floor.  “And should he offer violence—­scalding coffee may defend me as effectually as Morgiana’s boiling oil routed the gang.  My captain had to be carried up-stairs by four servants, who left him upon a pile of old mattresses in one corner of the room.  Here we are!”