“No, you were not. You were watching me,” said Crellock, in an angry whisper. “Did you think I was going to kill him—to get him out of the way?”
“No, no. Nothing of the kind, my dear boy,” whispered Hallam. “There, I’ll go back to my room.”
“You’ll go up to bed,” said Crellock firmly. “You’ve been drinking too much.”
“Indeed, no. Just a little to steady me.”
“You go up to bed,” said Crellock, taking him by the shoulder. “I’m not going to have my dear father-in-law elect drive himself mad with brandy. Come, no nonsense! Bed!”
Hallam made a few feeble protests, and then suffered himself to be led up to his bedroom, Julia and Mrs Hallam sitting trembling in the next, and watching the light flash beneath their door, as they listened to the ascending and descending steps, followed by a rustling in Hallam’s room, the low angry muttering he indulged in, and then there was silence once again.
A quarter of an hour passed, and they were listening to the heavy, stertorous breathing, when a soft tap came at their door, the handle was turned, and Thisbe appeared.
“I only came to see if you were both quite safe,” she said. “I could not sleep.”
“Dear old Thisbe,” said Julia, kissing her.
“Do, do, please go to bed, my dears,” said Thisbe. “I’ll sit and watch by you;” and at last, in obedience to her prayer, mother and daughter lay down, but not to sleep, for the dread of some impending calamity that they fancied was about to befall them.