d that as soon as he awoke I would inquire of Sir
John as to the pages missing from the diary; but though my expectation
and excitement were at a high pitch, I was forced to restrain my
curiosity, for Sir John's slumber continued late into the day. Dr.
Bruton called in the morning, and said that this sleep was what the
patient's condition most required, and was a distinctly favourable
symptom; he was on no account to be disturbed. Sir John did not leave
his bed, but continued dozing all day till the evening. When at last he
shook off his drowsiness, the hour was already so late that, in spite of
my anxiety, I hesitated to talk with him about the diaries, lest I
should unduly excite him before the night.

As the evening advanced he became very uneasy, and rose more than once
from his bed. This restlessness, following on the repose of the day,
ought perhaps to have made me anxious, for I have since observed that
when death is very near an apprehensive unrest often sets in both with
men and animals. It seems as if they dreaded to resign themselves to
sleep, lest as they slumber the last enemy should seize them unawares.
They try to fling off the bedclothes, they sometimes must leave their
beds and walk. So it was with poor John Maltravers on his last Christmas
Eve. I had sat with him grieving for his disquiet until he seemed to
grow more tranquil, and at length fell asleep. I was sleeping that night
in his room instead of Parnham, and tired with sitting up through the
previous night, I flung myself, dressed as I was, upon the bed. I had
scarcely dozed off, I think, before the sound of his violin awoke me.
I found he had risen from his bed, had taken his favourite instrument,
and was playing in his sleep. The air was the _Gagliarda_ of the
"Areopagita" suite, which I had not heard since we had played it last
together at Oxford, and it brought back with it a crowd of far-off
memories and infinite regrets. I cursed the sleepiness which had
overcome me at my watchman's post, and allowed Sir John to play once
more that melody which had always been fraught with such evil for him;
and I was about to wake him gently when he was startled from sleep by a
strange accident. As I walked towards him the violin seemed entirely to
collapse in his hands, and, as a matter of fact, the belly then gave way
and broke under the strain of the strings. As the strings slackened, the
last note became an unearthly discord. If I were superstitious I s