ou all right?"

"I am." He is ignorant of the fact that one of his cheeks is black as
any nigger's, and that both his hands resemble it. "I really thought it
was all up when I heard you scream. It was that wretched powder that
got too dry at the end. However, it doesn't matter."

"Have you both your ears, Molly?" asks Cecil, with a laugh; but a
sudden commotion in the hall outside, and the rapid advance of
footsteps in their direction, check her merriment.

"I hear Mr. Amherst's voice," says Mr. Potts, tragically. "If he finds
us here we are ruined."

"Let us get behind the curtains at the other end of the room," whispers
Cecil, hurriedly; "they may not find us there,--and--throw the plate
out of the window."

No sooner said than done: Plantagenet with a quick movement
precipitates the soup-plate--or rather what remains of it--into the
court-yard beneath, where it falls with a horrible clatter, and hastily
follows his two companions into their uncertain hiding-place.

It stands in a remote corner, rather hidden by a bookcase, and consists
of a broad wooden pedestal, hung round with curtains, that once
supported a choice statue. The statue having been promoted some time
since, the three conspirators now take its place, and find themselves
completely concealed by its falling draperies.

This recess, having been originally intended for one, can with
difficulty conceal two, so I leave it to your imagination to consider
how badly three fare for room inside it.

Mr. Potts, finding himself in the middle, begins to wish he had been
born without arms, as he now knows not how to dispose of them. He stirs
the right one, and Cecil instantly declares in an agonized whisper that
she is falling off the pedestal. He moves the left, and Molly murmurs
frantically in another instant she will be through the curtains at her
side. Driven to distraction, poor Potts, with many apologies, solves
the difficulty by placing an arm round each complainant, and so
supports them on their treacherous footing.

They have scarcely brought themselves into a retainable position when
the door opens and Mr. Amherst enters the room, followed by Sir
Penthony Stafford and Luttrell.

With one candlestick only are they armed, which Sir Penthony holds,
having naturally expected to find the library lighted.

"What is the meaning of this smell?" exclaims Mr. Amherst, in an awful
voice, that makes our three friends shiver in their shoes. "Has any one
be