behind me? The room is in total darkness, save for a tiny stream that shows under the half-opened door from the hall-lamp. I wonder what all that commotion in the hall is about? Can Jack have run against Simpkins in his pursuit, and upset the old thing? He is sure to be here in a minute. . . . I mount a chair behind the door. . . . . As he comes in I will deal him a blow that will make him wink. Footsteps are approaching; he is coming. . . . I grasp my bolster convulsively, the door opens, and, bang! with all the strength of my body and soul, I bring it down on the head of—Jack? Scarcely. Does Jack swear like a trooper, and dance like a dervish? Does Jack rush madly hither and thither, vowing when he catches me to "break every bone in my skin?" My heart sinks like lead, the bolster drops from my limp fingers, my feet are glued to the chair, as the awful conviction strikes me that I have been bolstering the governor. Some instinct of self-preservation, as he comes near me in his furious search, makes me leave my perch and dodge him swiftly and noiselessly round and round. Finally, watching my opportunity, I bolt out of the door just as William appears with candles, shoot past him like a meteor, and am up the stairs before you could say "Jack Robinson." Papa, dashing out in hot pursuit, butts head foremost into the out-stretched arms of the footman, and they roll over and over and over, master, man, candles, and all. A confused sound as of Wombwell's menagerie ascends to my ears, as I fly past the maids and fry who are hanging over the stairs anxiously watching the march of events, and having locked myself into my chamber, I sit down on the side of my bed with my eyes fixed upon the door, expecting it every moment to fly asunder and admit my executioner. But though I hear terrible sounds of devastation and fury in the distance, the minutes pass, and still he comes not. After a while, I am able to draw a deep breath, and contemplate the fact of my being still alive without any particular amazement.
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