We each of us went on rubbing without raising our heads.

"Here, take this," said my uncle, handing me a bulky parcel from under
his arm. "A splendid purchase, you'll see."

The subject did not interest me in the least.

I opened the parcel, and from the enveloping paper emerged a steel
helmet--but not an ordinary helmet, oh, no!--a superb, a monumental
morion, with gorget and pointed visor of strange form. The visor was
raised, and I tried to discover what prevented it from being lowered.

"It will not go down--the hinges have got out of order," said my uncle;
"but it's a superb piece, and, when it has been thoroughly cleaned and
touched up, will look well--that shall be your to-morrow's job."

"Very good, uncle," I murmured, not daring to raise my eyes to his.

That night, on reaching my room, I at once went to bed. I was eager to
be alone and able to think at my ease. Night brings counsel, it is said;
and I had great need that the proverb should prove true. But, after
lying awake for an hour without receiving any assistance, I fell off to
sleep, and, till next morning, did nothing but dream the oddest dreams.
I saw Rose on her way to church in a strange bridal costume, a
14th-century cap, three feet high, on her head, but looking prettier
than ever; then suddenly the scene changed to moonlight, in which
innumerable helmets and pieces of old china were dancing a wild
farandola, while my uncle, clad in complete armour and with a formidable
halberd in his hand, conducted the bewildering whirl.