He paused by the second and ushered me into a sleeping-chamber, which, though narrow, was comfortable enough--a vast improvement, at any rate, on the mumpers' lodgings I had been used to for many months past.
"You can undress here," he said.

"The sheets are aired, and if you'll wait a moment, I'll fetch a nightshirt--one of my own." "Sir, you heap coals of fire on me." "Believe me that for ninety-nine of your qualities I do not care a tinker's curse; but for your palate you are to be taken care of." He shuffled away, but came back in a couple of minutes with the nightshirt.
"Good-night," he called to me, flinging it in at the door; and without giving me time to return the wish, went his way up-stairs.
Now it might be supposed I was only too glad to toss off my clothes and climb into the bed I had so unexpectedly acquired a right to.

But, as a matter of fact, I did nothing of the kind.

Instead, I drew on my boots and sat on the bed's edge, blinking at my candle till it died down in its socket, and afterwards at the purple square of window as it slowly changed to grey with the coming of dawn.

I was cold to the heart, and my teeth chattered with an ague.