you went to
sleep. The idea of drowning comes too naturally out of such impressions
as these to need dwelling on. Is there anything else before we go on?
Yes; there is one more circumstance left to account for."

"The most important circumstance of all," remarked Midwinter, joining in
the conversation, without stirring from his place at the window.

"You mean the appearance of Mr. Armadale's father? I was just coming
to that," answered Mr. Hawbury. "Is your father alive?" he added,
addressing himself to Allan once more.

"My father died before I was born."

The doctor started. "This complicates it a little," he said. "How did
you know that the figure appearing to you in the dream was the figure of
your father?"

Allan hesitated again. Midwinter drew his chair a little away from the
window, and looked at the doctor attentively for the first time.

"Was your father in your thoughts before you went to sleep?" pursued
Mr. Hawbury. "Was there any description of him--any portrait of him at
home--in your mind?"

"Of course there was!" cried Allan, suddenly seizing the lost
recollection. "Midwinter! you remember the miniature you found on the
floor of the cabin when we were putting the yacht to rights? You said I
didn't seem to value it; and I told you I did, because it was a portrait
of my father--"

"And was the face in the dream like the face in the miniature?" asked
Mr. Hawbury.

"Exactly like! I say, doctor, this is beginning to get interesting!"

"What do you say now?" asked Mr. Hawbury, turning toward the window
again.

Midwinter hurriedly left his chair, and placed himself at the table with
Allan. Just as he had once already taken refuge from the tyranny of his
own superstition in the comfortable common sense of Mr. Brock, so, with
the same headlong eagerness, with the same straightforward sincerity
of purpose, he now took refuge in the doctor's theory of dreams. "I say
what my friend says," he answered, flushing with a sudden enthusiasm;
"this is beginning to get interesting. Go on; pray go on."

The doctor looked at his strange guest more indulgently than he had
looked yet. "You are the only mystic I have met with," he said, "who is
willing to give fair evidence fair play. I don't despair of converting
you before our inquiry comes to an end. Let us get on to the next set
of events," he resumed, after referring for a moment to the manuscript.
"The interval of oblivion which is described as succeeding th