“Past two, sir.”
“What news? I see bad tidings of some sort in that lugubrious face of yours; out with it!”
“The little boy arrived at dawn, sir,” answered old Stern, with a paternal air.
“What little boy?”
“Canaris, Jr., sir,” simpered the valet, venturing to be jocose.
“The deuce he did! Precipitate, like his father. Where is Felix?”
“With her, sir. In a state of mind, as well he may be, letting that delicate young thing sit up to keep him company over his poetry stuff,” muttered Stern, busying himself with the shutters.
“Sit up! when? where? what are you maundering about, man?” and Helwyze himself sat up among the pillows, looking unusually wide-awake.
“Last night, sir, in the study. Mr. Felix made me go for a wink of sleep, and when I came back, about one, there sat Mrs. Canaris as white as her gown, and him looking as wild as a hawk. Something was amiss, I could see plain enough, but it wasn’t my place to ask questions; so I just made bold to suggest that it was late for her to be up, and he took her away, looking dazed-like. That’s all I know, sir, till I found the women in a great flustration this morning.”
“And I slept through it all?”