Volume Three--Chapter Six.
Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
...
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou com’st in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee.
Shakespeare.
It was past two o’clock when Mr John Forster returned from his chambers and let himself in with a pass-key. Having secured the street door, the old gentleman lighted his candle from the lamp, which he then blew out, and had his foot upon the first step of the stairs, when he was startled by a loud snore from Nicholas in the dining-room; he immediately proceeded there, and found his brother, with his heed still lying on the table.
“Humph!” ejaculated the lawyer. “Why brother Nicholas! brother Nicholas!”
Nicholas, who had nearly slept off the effects of the wine, answered with an unintelligible sort of growling.
“Brother Nicholas, I say—brother Nicholas—will you get up, or lie here all night?”
“They shall be cleaned and ready by to-morrow morning,” replied Nicholas, dreaming.
“Humph! that’s more than you will be, apparently.—I say, brother Nicholas.”
“Yes brother,” replied Nicholas, raising his head and staring at the candle. “Why, what’s the matter?”