d at his mood and weakly answered, "I think
I shall, my dear." As he opened the door his helpmeet suggested he
should not forget at his private devotions to ask for a contented
spirit. Rebellion returned, and he banged the door.

He soon forgot his troubles in sleep; in fact, he did not even hear his
wife come to bed. He slept dreamlessly, despite the suggestion that he
had committed an error in diet, until a quarter past one. Then he awoke
quite suddenly, with a dim idea that something was happening. He sat
up in bed, rubbed his eyes, and listened: no, there seemed to be
nothing ... everything was still: only the regular breathing of his wife,
fast asleep, was to be heard. "I must have been dreaming," he thought,
preparing to lie down again. And then he heard a subdued, but distinct,
noise down-stairs.

Robert experienced a chill that crept, via the spine and nape, to his
brain. The short hairs on the back of his head felt as if they had begun
to bristle. A ghostly cowardice flooded his being, penetrating to the
uttermost recesses. "Good lord!" he thought, "it must be a burglar!" His
first instinct was to lie down and draw the clothes over his head; his
second, to jab his wife sharply in the ribs: company in the imminent
peril was his prime necessity. Both these base impulses he controlled.
Though elderly, he felt himself still a man; and despite the fact that
he had no audience, no public opinion to make heroism easy, he realized
that his part must be played alone at all costs.

As he came to this resolve his natural apprehension subsided: he felt
calmer, more collected. Sitting up in bed, he listened with strained
ears. For a moment there was silence; then came the quiet but distinct
opening of a door below. His misgivings had a solid foundation; and with
a dismal determination Robert cautiously got out of bed.

Why he did not wake his wife he hardly knew. Perhaps it was chivalry,
perhaps a subconscious sense that she might spoil the fun. Yes, that was
the odd phrase that formed in his mind once the temporary panic was
subdued. With a wry smile--remembering his previous complaints of a
vacant life and his thirst for adventures--Robert tiptoed cautiously to
the dressing-table. Here he made a swift and partial toilet. He slipped
on a pair of trousers, a coat and some boots--for in the midst of his
apprehensions he had a foolish idea that the burglar might tread on his
toes. Then without noise he opened the top right