Impatient to get back to the precious volume of the _Times,_ he rode so much faster than usual, and so shortened his visit to the old woman, that he was home again by a quarter past two.

Ascertaining from the servant who opened the door that the volume had been left by Mr.Rambert's messenger punctually at two, he ran up to his wife's room to tell her about his visit before he secluded himself for the rest of the afternoon over his work.

On entering the bedroom he found it still darkened, and he was struck by a smell of burned paper in it.
His wife (who was now dressed in her wrapper and lying on the sofa) accounted for the smell by telling him that she had fancied the room felt close, and that she had burned some paper--being afraid of the cold air if she opened the window--to fumigate it.

Her eyes were evidently still weak, for she kept her hand over them while she spoke.

After remaining with her long enough to relate the few trivial events of his ride, Mr.Carling descended to his study to occupy himself at last with the volume of the _Times_.
It lay on his table in the shape of a large flat brown paper package.
On proceeding to undo the covering, he observed that it had been very carelessly tied up.