Mr. Bashwood heard him
knock softly, and whisper, "Allan, are you in bed?"
"No," answered the voice inside; "come in."
He appeared to be on the point of entering the room, when he
checked himself as if he had suddenly remembered something.
"Wait a minute," he said, through the door, and, turning away,
went straight to the end room. "If there is anybody watching us
in there," he said aloud, "let him watch us through this!"
He took out his handkerchief, and stuffed it into the wires of
the grating, so as completely to close the aperture. Having thus
forced the spy inside (if there was one) either to betray himself
by moving the handkerchief, or to remain blinded to all view of
what might happen next, Midwinter presented himself in Allan's
room.
"You know what poor nerves I have," he said, "and what a wretched
sleeper I am at the best of times. I can't sleep to-night.
The window in my room rattles every time the wind blows. I wish
it was as fast as your window here."
"My dear fellow!" cried Allan, "I don't mind a rattling window.
Let's change rooms. Nonsense! Why should you make excuses to
_me_? Don't I know how easily trifles upset those excitable
nerves of yours? Now the doctor has quieted my mind about my
poor little Neelie, I begin to feel the journey; and I'll answer
for sleeping anywhere till to-morrow comes.
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