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 Rosalie!—my love!" But as darkness still reigned, and the nymph did not appear, he at length returned in sadness and in silence to the cottage; and having passed the outer door, which he omitted to close, proceeded to his chamber, undressed, and went to bed.

Now as Sylvester made not the slightest noise, he disturbed neither his aunt nor any one of the servants: "they slept soundly and well, and thus continued to sleep for several hours after his return; but, in the morning, when cook came down, she, on finding the outer door open, was struck at once with horror, and without giving even a glance, with the view of ascertaining how matters really stood, rushed up stairs again, shrieking "Thieves!—thieves!—thieves!"

Out rushed Judkins with a gash across his throat—for at the moment the first shriek was uttered, he was endeavouring to improve the characteristic respectability of his appearance by shaving—and out rushed Mary, with her hair dishevelled; but their mistress on coming to the door, without leaving her room, demanded to know what was the matter.

"Oh! ma'am," replied cook, "it's a mercy, ma'am, we haven't all been murdered! The door's as wide open as ever it can stick!"

"What, the outer door?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good gracious!—what can all this mean? Why I saw the door fastened myself. Have any of the things been taken away?"

"I don't know I'm sure, ma'am. Go, Judkins, and look."

Judkins did go, and found all secure, and then returned to report progress; but while engaged in making that report, Aunt Eleanor, perceiving the sanguinary state of his throat, exclaimed "Judkins!—why, what on earth have you been doing?"

"I was only a shaving, ma'am, when cook shruck."

"For goodness sake, go and stop the blood immediately. Do not," she added, addressing the cook, "do not suffer a thing to be touched till I come down."

She then closed her door and proceeded to dress; and Judkins returned to his room, where he found, on consulting his glass, that although he never even contemplated suicide, he looked as if he had not only meant to commit, but had, in reality, committed the act. He had before no idea of having made such an incision. The blood was actually streaming down his neck—it looked frightful—it moreover created the absolute necessity for a clean shirt. Now, Judkins, who was a tidy man, had a strong aversion to whiskers: he had also an aversion to the practice of allowing the hair to grow under the chin: he therefore shaved all off, from his temples to his collar-bone, and being endowed with a broad face and neck, he not only had an extensive field of stubble to go over, but as he was not, as a shaver, expert, and as his razors were never in very fine order, he scratched and grinned during the pleasing operation, while the stubble contested the ground, inch by inch, and thus amused himself for more than half an hour every morning of his existence.

On this occasion the entertainment was nearly at an end—he was in the last act, taking the final and triumphant upper scrape—when he heard the first shriek, which so paralysed his frame, that the razor