And now, when all the guests had taken leave, and Miss Huntingdon had retired to her room, happy in the prospect of coming rest, she heard a sort of half scuffle at her door, followed by a knock.  Then in came Walter, dragging in some one after him who was evidently reluctant to be thus introduced.  "Can you, oh, can you, dear aunt, spare me--ay, spare _us_,--that means me and Amos, or, rather, it ought to be Amos and me,-- just a few minutes?  Amos doesn't want to come, just like his unselfish self, but I do.  No, I don't want to tire you after all your fatigues, but I can't go to sleep till I have had a word from you.  If you don't let me stop, if you don't say that word, I shall lie awake all night, thinking of those hands--not _cross_, for their owner is never cross, but _crossed_--those crossed hands.  Or if I do go to sleep, I shall do nothing but dream of them.  So pray let me stop; and Amos must stop too."