Might bring such fearful guilt upon the head

Of my unvigilant soul as would arouse

The Borgian snake from her envenomed bed,

Or startle Nero in his golden house.

“Good stuff,” Reginald remarked, laying down the manuscript; “when did you write it?”

“The night when you were out of town,” Ernest rejoined.

“I see,” Reginald replied.

There was something startling in his intonation that at once aroused Ernest’s attention.

“What do you see?” he asked quickly.

“Nothing,” Reginald replied, with immovable calm, “only that your state of nerves is still far from satisfactory.”