From the conservatory, Tom, finding himself in danger of havoc among the flower-pots, turned back into the third room, threw himself on a couch, and fell fast asleep.
He woke in the middle of the night in pitch darkness; and it was some time before he could remember where he was.

When he did, he recognized that he was in an awkward predicament.

But he knew the house well, and would make the attempt to get out undiscovered.

It was foolish, but Tom was foolish.

Feeling his way, he knocked down a small table with a great crash of china, and, losing his equanimity, rushed for the stair.
Happily the hall lamp was still alight, and he found no trouble with bolts or lock: the door was not any way secured.
The first breath of the cold night-air brought with it such a gush of joy as he had rarely experienced; and he trod the silent streets with something of the pleasure of an escaped criminal, until, alas! the wind, at the first turning, let him know that he had left his hat behind him! He felt as if he had committed a murder, and left his card-case with the body.