nst his legs. Ingolby murmured a soft,
unintelligible word, and, in his bare feet, passed out on to the
veranda, and from there to the garden and towards the gate at the front
of the house.

The nurse heard the gate click lightly, but she was only half-awake,
and as all was quiet in the next room, she composed herself in her chair
again with the vain idea that she was not sleeping. And Jim the faithful
one, as though under a narcotic of fate, was snoring softly beside the
vacant room. The streets were still. No lights burned anywhere so far
as eye could see. But now and then, in the stillness through which the
river flowed on, murmuring and rhythmic, there rose the distant sounds
of disorderly voices. Ingolby was in a state which was neither sleep nor
waking, which was in part delirium, in part oblivion to all things
in the world save one--an obsession so complete, that he moved
automatically through the street in which he lived towards that which
led to the bridge.

His terrier, as though realizing exactly what he wished, seemed to guide
him by rubbing against his legs, and even pressing hard against them
when he was in any danger of losing the middle of the road, or swerving
towards a ditch or some obstruction. Only once did they pass any human
being, and that was when they came upon a camp of road-builders, where a
red light burned, and two men slept in the open by a dying fire. One
of them raised his head when Ingolby passed, but being more than
half-asleep, and seeing only a man and a dog, thought nothing of it, and
dropped back again upon his rough pillow. He was a stranger to
Lebanon, and there was little chance of his recognizing Ingolby in the
semi-darkness.

As they neared the river, Ingolby became deeply agitated. He moved with
his hands outstretched. Had it not been for his dog he would probably
have walked into the Sagalac; for though he seemed to have an instinct
that was extra-natural, he swayed and staggered in the delirium driving
him on. There was one dreadful moment when, having swerved from the road
leading on to the bridge, he was within a foot of the river-bank.
One step farther, and he would have plunged down thirty feet into the
stream, to be swept to the Rapids below.

But for the first time the terrier made a sound. He gave a whining
bark almost human in its meaning, and threw himself at the legs of his
master, pushing him backwards and over towards the road leading upon the
bridge, as a c