r end
of the terrace; for while she had been speaking a figure, only just
perceptible in the semi-darkness, had moved slowly across the end of
the terrace, paused for a moment at the head of the flight of steps,
and then slowly descended.

Stafford also saw it, and glancing at her he saw that she was startled,
if not frightened. She scarcely seemed to breathe, and she turned her
large, dark eyes upon him questioningly, somewhat appealingly.

"What is that?" she said, in a whisper, more to herself than to him.

"Someone--a man has gone down the steps from the house," he said.
"Don't you know who it is?"

"No," she replied in as low a voice. "It is not Jason--there is no one
else--who can it be? I will go and see."

She moved towards the terrace, and Stafford said:

"I will come with you; you will let me?"

She did not refuse; indeed, she appeared to have forgotten his
presence: together they crossed the lawn and reached the corner of the
house near which the figure had disappeared. It struck Stafford as
strange that the dogs did not bark. In profound silence they went in
the direction the figure had taken, and Stafford presently saw a ruined
building, which had evidently been a chapel. As they approached it the
figure came out of it and towards them. As it passed them, so close
that they instinctively drew back, Stafford saw that it was an old man
in a dressing-gown; his head was bare, his hair touched the collar of
the gown. His eyes were wide open, and gazing straight in front of him.

Stafford was about to step forward and arrest his progress, when
suddenly the girl's hand seized his and gripped it.

"Hush!" she whispered, with subdued terror. "It is my father. He--yes,
he is asleep! Oh, see, he is asleep! He will fall--hurt himself--"

She, in her turn, was about to spring forward, but Stafford caught her
arm.

"No, no, you must not!" he said, in a hurried whisper. "I think it
would be dangerous. I think he is all right if you let him alone. He is
walking in his sleep. Don't speak--don't cry out."

"No, no," she breathed. "But it is dreadful."

Instinctively, unconsciously, she drew closer to Stafford, almost clung
to him, watching her father over her shoulder until the figure, with
its ghastly, mechanical movement and vacant stare, had passed into the
house; then, with a long breath, and with her hands clasping her
throat, as if she were stifling, she broke from Stafford and sprang
quickly and noisel