that no more could be expected of him, he snuggled down into the
pillow again.

Mr. Bennett's sense of injury became more acute. For a moment he was
strongly tempted to try the restorative effects of candle-grease once
more, but, just as he was on the point of succumbing, a shooting pain,
as if somebody had run a red-hot needle into his tongue, reminded him
of his situation. A dying man cannot pass his last hours dropping
candle-grease into people's ears. After all, it was perhaps a little
late, and there would be plenty of time to become reconciled to Mr.
Mortimer to-morrow. His task now was to seek out Bream and bring him the
glad news of his renewed engagement.

He closed the door quietly, and proceeded upstairs. Bream's bedroom, he
knew, was the one just off the next landing. He turned the handle
quietly, and went in. Having done this, he coughed.

"Drop that pistol!" said the voice of Jane Hubbard immediately, with
quiet severity. "I've got you covered!"

Mr. Bennett had no pistol, but he dropped the candle. It would have been
a nice point to say whether he was more perturbed by the discovery that
he had got into the wrong room, and that room a lady's, or by the fact
that the lady whose wrong room it was had pointed what appeared to be a
small cannon at him over the foot of the bed. It was not, as a matter of
fact, a cannon but the elephant gun, which Miss Hubbard carried with her
everywhere--a girl's best friend.

"My dear young lady!" he gasped.

On the five occasions during recent years on which men had entered her
tent with the object of murdering her, Jane Hubbard had shot without
making inquiries. What strange feminine weakness it was that had caused
her to utter a challenge on this occasion, she could not have said.
Probably it was due to the enervating effects of civilisation. She was
glad now that she had done so, for, being awake and in full possession
of her faculties, she perceived that the intruder, whoever he was, had
no evil intentions.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"I don't know how to apologise!"

"That's all right! Let's have a light." A match flared in the darkness.
Miss Hubbard lit her candle, and gazed at Mr. Bennett with quiet
curiosity. "Walking in your sleep?" she inquired.

"No, no!"

"Not so loud! You'll wake Mr. Hignett. He's next door. That's why I took
this room, in case he was restless in the night."

"I want to see Bream Mortimer," said Mr. Bennett.

"He's in my old room