ht. She gave him her arm to assist him. On the way
upstairs his attention, to her great relief, became suddenly absorbed
by a new fancy. He remembered a certain warm and comfortable mixture of
wine, eggs, sugar, and spices, which she had often been accustomed to
make for him in former times, and which he thought he should relish
exceedingly before he went to bed. Mrs. Lecount helped him on with his
dressing-gown--then went down-stairs again to make his warm drink for
him at the parlor fire.

She rang the bell and ordered the necessary ingredients for the mixture,
in Noel Vanstone's name. The servants, with the small ingenious malice
of their race, brought up the materials one by one, and kept her waiting
for each of them as long as possible. She had got the saucepan, and the
spoon, and the tumbler, and the nutmeg-grater, and the wine--but not
the egg, the sugar, or the spices--when she heard him above, walking
backward and forward noisily in his room; exciting hi mself on the old
subject again, beyond all doubt.

She went upstairs once more; but he was too quick for her--he heard her
outside the door; and when she opened it, she found him in his chair,
with his back cunningly turned toward her. Knowing him too well to
attempt any remonstrance, she merely announced the speedy arrival of the
warm drink and turned to leave the room. On her way out, she noticed a
table in a corner, with an inkstand and a paper-case on it, and tried,
without attracting his attention, to take the writing materials away.
He was too quick for her again. He asked, angrily, if she doubted his
promise. She put the writing materials back on the table, for fear of
offending him, and left the room.

In half an hour more the mixture was ready. She carried it up to him,
foaming and fragrant, in a large tumbler. "He will sleep after this,"
she thought to herself, as she opened the door; "I have made it stronger
than usual on purpose."

He had changed his place. He was sitting at the table in the
corner--still with his back to her, writing. This time his quick ears
had not served him; this time she caught him in the fact.

"Oh, Mr. Noel! Mr. Noel!" she said, reproachfully, "what is your promise
worth?"

He made no answer. He was sitting with his left elbow on the table, and
with his head resting on his left hand. His right hand lay back on the
paper, with the pen lying loose in it. "Your drink, Mr. Noel," she said,
in a kinder tone, feeling unwill