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 razed 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 porte