There on his table, his sister's letter lay reproaching him. He took it up, ashamed rather of his negligence regarding it, and prepared himself for a disagreeable hour's communing with that crabbed-handed absent relative. . . . It may have been an hour after the Major's departure from the Colonel's house--Sir Michael was sleeping the sleep of the just; Glorvina had arranged her black ringlets in the innumerable little bits of paper, in which it was her habit to confine them; Lady O'Dowd, too, had gone to her bed in the nuptial chamber, on the ground-floor, and had tucked her musquito curtains round her fair form, when the guard at the gates of the Commanding-Officer's compound beheld Major Dobbin, in the moonlight, rushing towards the house with a swift step and a very agitated countenance, and he passed the sentinel and went up to the windows of the Colonel's bedchamber.
"O'Dowd--Colonel!" said Dobbin and kept up a great shouting.
"Heavens, Meejor!" said Glorvina of the curl-papers, putting out her head too, from her window.
"What is it, Dob, me boy?" said the Colonel, expecting there was a fire in the station, or that the route had come from headquarters.

There on his table, his sister's letter lay reproaching him. He took it up, rather ashamed of his negligence, and prepared himself for a disagreeable hour.
Sir Michael was asleep; Glorvina had arranged her black ringlets in curl-papers; Lady O'Dowd had tucked her mosquito curtains round her bed, when the guard in the compound beheld Major Dobbin, in the moonlight, rushing towards the house in agitation. He went up to the Colonel's window and shouted.
"O'Dowd - Colonel!"
"Heavens, Meejor!" said Glorvina, putting out her head from her window.
"What is it, Dob, me boy?" said the Colonel, expecting a fire in the station.
