A very decided snore met her ear.

She stood by the bedside, and looked at the tassel, which was the only portion visible of her better half.

She sat down on a chair; she got up again; she fussed about the room; she even opened the drawers and took out the Sunday attire of that Somnus before her.

But nothing she could do would arouse him.
At last she gently touched the face.

A louder snore was the only reply.
She gave a nervous push to the shoulder, and whispered into the bed-clothes, 'My dear.' 'Well, what now ?' growled the justly irritated sleeper.
'My dear, I am very sorry, but the poor girl is too ill to move, and I really don't know what is to be done.' 'Upon my very deed, if you are not enough to provoke a saint!' broke out Mr Prothero, now fairly sitting up in bed.