"Why, sir, they say it is haunted since poor
Sir Philip's death; and, indeed, there are strange
noises in every part of the house. I am afraid
you had a bad night, sir," continued the servant,
with evident curiosity glancing towards the bed,
which I had not pressed, and towards the
evening-dress, which, while he spoke, I was rapidly
changing for that which I habitually wore in
the morning. "I hope you did not feel yourself
ill?"

"No; but it seems I fell asleep in my chair."

"Did you hear, sir, how the dogs howled about
two o'clock in the morning? They woke me.
Very frightful!"

"The moon was at her full. Dogs will bay
the moon."

I felt relieved to think that I should not find
Strahan in the breakfast-room, and hastening
through the ceremony of a meal which I scarcely
touched, I went out into the park unobserved,
and creeping round the copses and into the
neglected garden, made my way to the
pavilion. I mounted the stairs—I looked on the
floor of the upper room; yes, there, still was the
black figure of the pentacle—the circle. So, then,
it was not a dream! Till then I had doubted. Or
might it not still be so far a dream, that I had
walked in my sleep, and, with an imagination
preoccupied by my conversations with Margrave
—by the hieroglyphics on the staff I had handled,
by the very figure associated with superstitious
practices which I had copied from some weird
book at his request, by all the strange impressions
previously stamped on my mind—might I
not, in truth, have carried thither in sleep the
staff, described the circle, and all the rest been
but visionary delusion? Surely—surely, so
common sense and so Julius Faber would
interpret the riddles that perplexed me. Be that
as it may, my first thought was to efface the
marks on the floor. I found this easier than I
had ventured to hope. I rubbed the circle and
the pentacle away from the boards with the sole
of my foot, leaving but an undistinguishable
smudge behind. I know not why, but I felt the
more nervously anxious to remove all such
evidences of my nocturnal visit to that room,
because Margrave had so openly gone thither to
seek for the staff, and had so rudely named me to
the servant as having meddled with it. Might he
not awake some suspicion against me?
Suspicion, what of? I knew not, but I feared!

The healthful air of day gradually nerved my
spirits and relieved my thoughts. But the place
had become hateful to me. I resolved not to
wait for Strahan's return, but to walk back to
L—— , and leave a message for my host. It was
sufficient excuse that I could not longer absent
myself from my patients; accordingly, I gave
directions to have the few things which I had
brought with me sent to my house by any servant
who might be going to L—— , and was soon
pleased to find myself outside the park gates and
on the high road.

I had not gone a mile before I met Strahan on
horseback. He received my apologies for not waiting
his return to bid him farewell, without observation,
and, dismounting, led his horse and
walked beside me on my road. I saw that there
was something on his mind; at last he said,
looking down,

"Did you hear the dogs howl last night?"

"Yes! the full moon!"

"You were awake, then, at the time. Did
you hear any other sound? Did you see
anything?"

"What should I hear or see?"

Strahan was silent for some moments; then he
said, with great seriousness,

"I could not sleep when I went to bed last
night; I felt feverish and restless. Somehow or
other, Margrave got into my head, mixed up, in
some strange way, with Sir Philip Derval. I
heard the dogs howl, and at the same time, or
rather a few minutes later, I felt the whole house
tremble, as a frail corner-house in London seems
to tremble at night when a carriage is driven
past it. The howling had then ceased, and
ceased as suddenly as it had begun. I felt a
vague superstitious alarm; I got up, and went to
my window, which was unclosed (it is my habit
to sleep with my windows open)—the moon was
very bright—and I saw, I declare I saw, along
the green alley that leads from the old part of
the house to the mausoleum—No, I will not
say what I saw or believed I saw you would
ridicule me, and justly. But, whatever it might
be, on the earth without or in the fancy within
my brain, I was so terrified, that I rushed back
to my bed, and buried my face in my pillow. I
would have come to you; but I did not dare
to stir. I have been riding hard all the morning
in order to recover my nerves. But I dread
sleeping again under that roof, and now that you
and Margrave leave me, I shall go this very
day to London. I hope all that I have told you
is no bad sign of any coming disease; blood to
the head, eh?"

"No; but imagination overstrained can
produce wondrous effects. You do right to change
the scene. Go to London at once, amuse
yourself, and——"

"Not return till the old house is rased to the
ground. That is my resolve. You approve?
That's well. All success to you, Fenwick. I
will canter back, and get my portmanteau ready
and the carriage out in time for the five o'clock
train."

So, then, he, too, had seen—what? I did not
dare and I did not desire to ask him. But he,
at least, was not walking in his sleep! Did we
both dream, or neither?

CHAPTER LIII.

THERE is an instance of the absorbing tyranny
of every-day life which must have struck all such
of my readers as have ever experienced one of
those portents which are so at variance with
every-day life, that the ordinary epithet
bestowed on them is "supernatural."