, as though he feared a
return of his old line of thought, "I wish Sally would come." And
a dreadful half-thought came to him, "Suppose there were a fire at
the theatre, and I had to wire ... why--that would be worst of all!"

So, almost without a pause between, he had prayed for a hell to punish
a crime, and for the safety of the treasured thing that was its
surviving record--a creature that but for that crime would never have
drawn breath.

His reading-lamp had burned out its young enthusiasm, and was making up
its mind to go out, only not in any hurry. It would expire with dignity
and leave a rich inheritance of stench. Meanwhile, its decadence was
marked enough to frank the Major in neglecting "Harry Lorrequer" for
the rest of the time, and also served to persuade him that he had
really been reading. Abstention from a book under compulsion has
something of the character of perusal. Gibbon could not have collected
his materials on those lines, certainly. But the Major felt his
conscience clearer from believing that he meant to go on where he had
been obliged to stop. He cancelled "Harry Lorrequer," put him back in
the bookcase to make an incident, then began actively waiting for the
return of the playgoers. Reference to his watch at short intervals
intensified their duration, added gall to their tediousness. But so
convinced was he that they "would be here directly" that it was at
least half-an-hour before he reconsidered this insane policy and
resumed his chair with a view to keeping awake in it. He was convinced
he was succeeding, had not noticed he was dozing, when he was suddenly
wrenched out of the jaws of sleep by the merry voices of the
home-comers and the loss of the piebald cat's temper as aforesaid.

"Oh, Major dear, you haven't gone to bed! You will be so tired! Why
didn't you go?"

"I've been very happy, chick. I've been reading 'Harry Lorrequer.'
I like Charles Lever, because I read him when I was a boy. What's
o'clock?" He pulled out his watch with a pretence, easy of detection,
that he had not just done so ten minutes before. It was a lie about
"Harry Lorrequer," you see, so a little extra didn't matter.

"It's awfully late!" Sally testified. "Very nearly as late as it's
possible to be. But now we're in for it, we may as well make it
a nocturnal dissipation. Ann!--don't go to bed; at least, not before
you've brought some more fresh water. This will take years to hot up.
Oh, Major, Major, why _did