"I don't know what will happen if the telegrams go on till midnight,"
said Mrs. Merillia. "The Duke of Camberwell is a very violent man, since
he had that sunstroke at the last Jubilee, and I shouldn't wonder if
he--"
"Grannie, there will not be any more telegrams."
"But you said that before, Hennessey."
"And I say it again. There will not be any more. I have just informed
the messenger that the next boy who knocks will certainly be--well,
destroyed."
Mrs. Merillia breathed a sigh of relief.
"I am so thankful, Hennessey. Are you dining out to-night?"
"No, grannie. I don't feel very well. I have a headache. I shall go and
lie down for a little."
"Yes, do. Everybody is lying down; Fancy, the upper housemaid, the cook.
Even Gustavus, they tell me, is trying to snatch a little uneasy repose
on his what-not. It has been a terrible day."
Mrs. Merillia lay back and closed her eyes, and the Prophet, overwhelmed
with remorse, retired to his room, lay down and stared desperately at
nothing for half an hour. He then ate, with a very poor appetite, a
morsel of dinner and prepared to take, if possible, a short nap before
starting on the labours of the night.
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