of it, engaged in dropping some sal-volatile
into a glass of water. At the upper end,
stood the housekeeper with an open medicine
chest on the table before her. To this
part of the room, Mr. Munder slowly
advanced,  with a portentous countenance; drew
an arm-chair up to the table; sat himself
down in it with extreme deliberation and
care in the matter of settling his coat-tails;
and immediately became, to all outward
appearance, the very model, or picture, of a
Lord Chief Justice in plain clothes.

Mrs. Pentreath, conscious from these
preparations that something extraordinary was
about to happen, seated herself a little
behind the steward. Betsey restored the keys
to their place on the nail in the wall, and
was about to retire modestly to her proper
kitchen sphere, when she was stopped by
Mr. Munder.

"Wait, if you please," said the steward.
"I shall have occasion to call on you presently,
young woman, to make a plain
statement."

Obedient Betsey waited near the door,
terrified by the idea that she must have
done something wrong, and that the steward
was armed with inscrutable legal power
to try, sentence, and punish her for the
offence on the spot.

"Now, sir," said Mr. Munder, addressing
Uncle Joseph as if he was the Speaker of the
House of Commons, "if you have done with
that sal-volatile, and if the person by your
side has sufficiently recovered her senses to
listen, I should wish to say a word or two to
both of you."

At this exordium, Sarah tried affrightedly
to rise from her chair; but her uncle caught
her by the hand, and pressed her back in it.
"Wait and rest," he whispered. "I shall
take all the scolding on my own shoulder,
and do all the talking with my own tongue.
As soon as you are fit to walk again, I
promise you this: whether the big man has said
his word or two, or has not said it, we will
quietly get up and go our ways out of
the house."

"Up to the present moment," said Mr.
Munder, "I have refrained from expressing
an opinion. The time has now come, as it
appears to me and Mrs. Pentreath, when,
holding a position of trust as I do, in this
establishment, and being accountable, and
indeed responsible, as I am, for what takes
place in it, and feeling, as I must, that things
cannot be allowed, or, even permitted, to rest
as they are—it is my duty to say that I think
your conduct is very extraordinary." Directing
this forcible conclusion to his sentence
straight at Sarah, Mr. Munder leaned back
in his chair, quite full of words and quite
empty of meaning, to collect himself comfortably
for his next effort.

"My only desire," he resumed, with a soft
and plaintive impartiality, "is to act fairly
by all parties. I don't wish to frighten
anybody,  or to startle anybody, or even to terrify
anybody. I wish to state remarkable facts
of a singular nature. I wish to unravel, or,
if you please, the expression being plainer to
all capacities, which is all I want to be, to
make out, what I may term, with perfect
propriety—events. And when I have done that,
I should wish to put it to you, ma'am, and to
you, sir, whether—I say, I should wish to
put it to you both, calmly, and impartially,
and politely, and plainly, and smoothly—and
when I say smoothly, I mean quietly—
whether—in short, whether you are not
both of you bound to explain yourselves."

Mr. Munder paused, to let that last
irresistible appeal work its way to the
consciences of the persons whom he addressed.
The housekeeper took advantage of the
silence to cough, as congregations cough just
before the sermon, apparently on the principle
of getting rid of bodily infirmities before-
hand, in order to give the mind free play for
undisturbed intellectual enjoyment. Betsey,
following Mrs. Pentreath's lead, indulged in
a cough on her own account—of the faint,
distrustful sort. Uncle Joseph sat perfectly
easy and undismayed, still holding his niece's
hand in his, and giving it a little squeeze,
from time to time, when the steward's oratory
became particularly involved and impressive.
Sarah never moved, never looked up, never
lost the expression of terrified restraint which
had taken possession of her face from the
first moment when she entered the
housekeeper's room.

"Now what are the facts, and
circumstances, and events?" proceeded Mr.
Munder, leaning back in his chair, in calm enjoyment
of the sound of his own voice. "You,
ma'am, and you, sir, ring at the bell of the
door of this Mansion" (here he looked hard
at Uncle Joseph, as much as to say, "I don't
give up that point about the house being a
Mansion, you see, even on the judgment-seat")
"you are let in, or, rather, admitted.
You, sir, assert that you wish to inspect the
Mansion (you say 'see the house,' but, being
a foreigner, we are not surprised at your
making a little mistake of that sort); you,
ma'am, coincide, and even agree, in that request.
What follows? You are shown over
the Mansion. It is not usual to show strangers
over it, but we happen to have certain
reasons—"

Sarah started. "What reasons?" she asked,
looking up quickly.

Uncle Joseph felt her hand turn cold and
tremble in his. "Hush! hush!" he said,
"leave the talking to me."

At the same moment, Mrs. Pentreath pulled
Mr. Munder warily by the coat-tail, and
whispered to him to be careful. "Mrs. Frankland's
letter," she said in his ear, "tells us
particularly not to let it be suspected that we
are acting under orders."

"Don't you fancy, Mrs. Pentreath, that I
forget what I ought to remember," rejoined