oken, I really felt
that--I really felt that--" and then Mrs. Bunting, taking a step
or two sideways, sat down, and throwing her little black apron over
her face burst into gasping sobs.

Bunting patted her back timidly. "Ellen?" he said, much moved by her
agitation, "Ellen? Don't take on so, my dear--"

"I won't," she sobbed, "I--I won't! I'm a fool--I know I am!
But, oh, I didn't think we was ever going to have any luck again!"

And then she told him--or rather tried to tell him--what the
lodger was like. Mrs. Bunting was no hand at talking, but one thing
she did impress on her husband's mind, namely, that Mr. Sleuth was
eccentric, as so many clever people are eccentric--that is, in a
harmless way--and that he must be humoured.

"He says he doesn't want to be waited on much," she said at last
wiping her eyes, "but I can see he will want a good bit of looking
after, all the same, poor gentleman."

And just as the words left her mouth there came the unfamiliar sound
of a loud ring. It was that of the drawing-room bell being pulled
again and again.

Bunting looked at his wife eagerly. "I think I'd better go up, eh,
Ellen?" he said. He felt quite anxious to see their new lodger.
For the matter of that, it would be a relief to be doing something
again.

"Yes," she answered, "you go up! Don't keep him waiting! I wonder
what it is he wants? I said I'd let him know when his supper was
ready."

A moment later Bunting came down again. There was an odd smile on
his face. "Whatever d'you think he wanted?" he whispered
mysteriously. And as she said nothing, he went on, "He's asked me
for the loan of a Bible!"

"Well, I don't see anything so out of the way in that," she said
hastily, "'specially if he don't feel well. I'll take it up to him."

And then going to a small table which stood between the two windows,
Mrs. Bunting took off it a large Bible, which had been given to her
as a wedding present by a married lady with whose mother she had
lived for several years.

"He said it would do quite well when you take up his supper," said
Bunting; and, then, "Ellen? He's a queer-looking cove--not like
any gentleman I ever had to do with."

"He is a gentleman," said Mrs. Bunting rather fiercely.

"Oh, yes, that's all right." But still he looked at her doubtfully.
"I asked him if he'd like me to just put away his clothes. But,
Ellen, he said he hadn't got any clothes!"

"No more he hasn't;" she spoke quickly, defensivel