Then he strolled to a different part of the hall, and one by one he turned on, by means of the electric switches, the newly installed lights which hung above the sombre oil pictures upon the wall.

He looked into the faces of some of these dead Domineys, trying to recall what he had heard of their history, and dwelling longest upon a gallant of the Stuart epoch, whose misdeeds had supplied material for every intimate chronicler of those days.

When at last the sight of a sleepy manservant hovering in the background forced his steps upstairs, he still lingered for a few moments in the corridor and turned the handle of his bedroom door with almost reluctant fingers.
His heart gave a great jump as he realised that there was some one there.

He stood for a moment upon the threshold, then laughed shortly to himself at his foolish imagining.

It was his servant who was patiently awaiting his arrival.
"You can go to bed, Dickens," he directed.