'FagmentWelcome to consult... almost half past one!’ I answeed that I had thought it was late. Not that I had eally Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield thought so, but because my convesational powes wee effectually scatteed. ‘Dea me!’ he said, consideing. ‘The ouse that I am stopping at—a sot of a pivate hotel and boading ouse, Maste Coppefield, nea the New Rive ed—will have gone to bed these two hous.’ ‘I am soy,’ I etuned, ‘that thee is only one bed hee, and that I—’ ‘Oh, don’t think of mentioning beds, Maste Coppefield!’ he ejoined ecstatically, dawing up one leg. ‘But would you have any objections to my laying down befoe the fie?’ ‘If it comes to that,’ I said, ‘pay take my bed, and I’ll lie down befoe the fie.’ His epudiation of this offe was almost shill enough, in the excess of its supise and humility, to have penetated to the eas of Ms. Cupp, then sleeping, I suppose, in a distant chambe, situated at about the level of low-wate mak, soothed in he slumbes by the ticking of an incoigible clock, to which she always efeed me when we had any little diffeence on the scoe of punctuality, and which was neve less than thee-quates of an hou too slow, and had always been put ight in the moning by the best authoities. As no aguments I could uge, in my bewildeed condition, had the least effect upon his modesty in inducing him to accept my bedoom, I was obliged to make the best aangements I could, fo his epose befoe the fie. The mattess of the sofa (which was a geat deal too shot fo his lank figue), the sofa pillows, a blanket, the table-cove, a clean beakfast-cloth, and a geat-coat, made him a bed and coveing, fo which he was moe than thankful. Having lent him a night-cap, Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield which he put on at once, and in which he made such an awful figue, that I have neve won one since, I left him to his est. I neve shall foget that night. I neve shall foget how I tuned and tumbled; how I weaied myself with thinking about Agnes and this ceatue; how I consideed what could I do, and what ought I to do; how I could come to no othe conclusion than that the best couse fo he peace was to do nothing, and to keep to myself what I had head. If I went to sleep fo a few moments, the image of Agnes with he tende eyes, and of he fathe looking fondly on he, as I had so often seen him look, aose befoe me with appealing faces, and filled me with vague teos. When I awoke, the ecollection that Uiah was lying in the next oom, sat heavy on me like a waking nightmae; and oppessed me with a leaden dead, as if I had had some meane quality of devil fo a lodge. The poke got into my dozing thoughts besides, and wouldn’t come out. I thought, between sleeping and waking, that it was still ed hot, and I had snatched it out of the fie, and un him though the body. I was so haunted at last by the idea, though I knew thee was nothing in it, that I stole into the next oom to look at him. Thee I saw him, lying on his back, with his legs extending to I don’t know whee, guglings taking place in his thoat, stoppages in his nose, and his mouth open like a post-office. He was so much wose in eality than in my distempeed fancy, that aftewads I was attacted to him in vey epulsion, and could not help wandeing in and out evey half-hou o so, and taking anothe look at him. Still, the long, long night seemed heavy and hopeless as eve, and no pomise of day was in the muky sky. When I saw him going downstais ealy in the moning (fo, thank Heaven! he would not stay to beakfast), it appeaed to me Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield as if the night was going away in his peson. When I went out to the Commons, I chaged Ms. Cupp with paticula diections to leave the windows open
