"No," said Marie quickly.

"I firmly believe that poor man is ashamed of his past rough life,
and does everything he can to forget it. That's why he affects those
ultra-civilized and effeminate ways, and goes to the other extreme, as
people always do."

"Then you think he's really reformed, and isn't likely to take an
impulse to rob and murder anybody again?"

"Why, Marie, what nonsense!"

Nevertheless, Uncle Sylvester appeared quite fresh and cheerful at
breakfast. It seemed that he had lit the fire before undressing, but
the green logs were piled so far into the room that the smoke nearly
suffocated him. Fearful of alarming the house by letting the smoke
escape through the door, he opened the window, and when it had partly
dispersed, sought refuge himself from the arctic air of his bedroom
in the drawing-room. So far the act did not seem inconsistent with his
sanity, or even intelligence and consideration for others. But Marie
fixed upon him a pair of black, audacious eyes.

"Did you ever walk in your sleep, Mr. Lane?"

"No; but"--thoughtfully breaking an egg--"I have ridden, I think."

"In your sleep? Oh, do tell us all about it!" said Cousins Jane and Emma
in chorus.