Left by herself, Magdalen exemplified the
excellence of the old sailor's method of treatment,
in her particular case, by ascending the stairs
immediately, to make her own observations on the
second floor. The stone passage here was
exactly similar—except that more doors opened
out of it—to the passage on the first floor. She
opened the two nearest doors, one after another,
at a venture, and discovered that both rooms
were bed-chambers. The fear of being discovered
by one of the women-servants, in a part of the
house with which she had no concern, warned
her not to push her investigations on the
bedroom floor, too far at starting. She hurriedly
walked down the passage to see where it ended;
discovered that it came to its termination in a
lumber-room, answering to the position of the
vestibule down stairs; and retraced her steps
immediately.

On her way back, she noticed an object which
had previously escaped her attention. It was a
low truckle bed, placed parallel with the wall,
and close to one of the doors, on the bedroom
side. In spite of its strange and comfortless
situation, the bed was apparently occupied
at night, by a sleeper: the sheets were on it,
and the end of a thick red fisherman's cap,
peeped out from under the pillow. She ventured
on opening the door near which the bed was
placed; and found herself, as she conjectured
from certain signs and tokens, in the admiral's
sleeping chamber. A moment's observation of
the room was all she dared risk; and, softly
closing the door again, she returned to the
kitchen regions.

The truckle bed, and the strange position in
which it was placed, dwelt on her mind all
through the afternoon. Who could possibly
sleep in it? The remembrance of the red fisherman's
cap, and the knowledge she had already
gained of Mazey's dog-like fidelity to his
master, helped her to guess that the old sailor
might be the occupant of the truckle bed. But
why, with bedrooms enough and to spare, should
he occupy that cold and comfortless situation at
night? Why should he sleep on guard outside
his master's door? Was there some nocturnal
danger in the house, of which the admiral was
afraid? The question seemed absurd—and
yet the position of the bed forced it irresistibly
on her mind.

Stimulated by her own ungovernable curiosity
on this subject, Magdalen ventured to question
the housekeeper. She acknowledged having
walked from end to end of the passage on the
second floor, to see if it was as long as the passage
on the first; and she mentioned having noticed
with astonishment the position of the truckle bed.
Mrs. Drake answered her implied inquiry shortly
and sharply. "I don't blame a young girl like
you," said the old lady, "for being a little
curious, when she first comes into such a strange
house as this. But remember, for the future,
that your business does not lie on the bedroom
story. Mr. Mazey sleeps on that bed you noticed.
It is his habit at night, to sleep outside his
master's door." With that meagre explanation
Mrs. Drake's lips closed, and opened no
more.

Later in the day, Magdalen found an opportunity
of applying to old Mazey himself. She discovered
the veteran in high good humour, smoking
his pipe, and warming a tin mug of ale at his
own snug fire.

"Mr. Mazey," she asked boldly, "why do
you put your bed in that cold passage?"

"What! you have been up-stairs, you young
jade, have you?" said old Mazey, looking up from
his mug with a leer.

Magdalen smiled and nodded. " Come! come!
tell me," she said, coaxingly. " Why do you
sleep outside the admiral's door?"

"Why do you part your hair in the middle,
my dear?" asked old Mazey, with another
leer.

"I suppose, because I am accustomed to do
it," answered Magdalen.

"Ay? ay?" said the veteran. "That's why,
is it? Well, my dear, the reason why you part
your hair in the middle, is the reason why I sleep
outside the admiral's door. I know how to
deal with 'em!" chuckled old Mazey, lapsing
into soliloquy, and stirring up his ale in high
triumph. "Tall and short, native and foreign,
sweethearts and wives—I know how to deal with
'em!"

Magdalen's third, and last, attempt at solving
the mystery of the truckle bed, was made while
she was waiting on the admiral at dinner. The
old gentleman's questions gave her an
opportunity of referring to the subject, without any
appearance of presumption or disrespect—but
he proved to be quite as impenetrable, in his
way, as old Mazey and Mrs. Drake had been in
theirs. " It doesn't concern you, my dear," said
the admiral, bluntly. " Don't be curious. Look
in your Old Testament when you go down stairs,
and see what happened in the Garden of Eden
through curiosity. Be a good girl—and don't
imitate your mother Eve."

As Magdalen passed the end of the second-
floor passage, late at night, proceeding alone on
her way up to her own room, she stopped and
listened. A screen was placed at the entrance
of the corridor, so as to hide it from the view of
persons passing on the stairs. The snoring she
heard on the other side of the screen, encouraged
her to slip round it, and to advance a few steps.
Shading the light of her candle with her hand,
she ventured close to the admiral's door, and
saw to her surprise that the bed had been moved,
since she had seen it in the daytime, so as to
stand exactly across the door, and to bar the way
entirely to any one who might attempt to enter
the admiral's room. After this discovery, old
Mazey himself snoring lustily, with the red
fisherman's cap pulled down to his eyebrows,
and the blankets drawn up to his nose—
became an object of secondary importance only,
by comparison with his bed. That the