recollection of that long sad day, was that of being treated as though I
were a "person," and not a child, by almost every member of the
community; a sensation bringing with it a dim sense of glory--that might
have been--but which my guilty position kept me back from enjoying.

Both my parents came down to a sort of dinner-tea, which we had together
at about seven o'clock, and my mother stayed a little while with me
afterwards, and then sent me off, rather earlier than usual, to bed,
upon the plea of my being weary with the long, anxious day.

CHAPTER IX.

SORROWFUL DAYS.

To bed; but not to my usual peaceful sleep; for all the night through
one terrible dream seemed to succeed the other, until, in the act of
landing at the White-Rock Cove, and calling for help, I woke at last to
find myself standing somewhere in the dark, I could not at first make
out where, though it turned out to be in Aleck's room, to which I had
made my way in my sleep.

I began to cry with fright, and my father came running up to see what
was the matter. He was quite dressed, and brought a candle with him, and
looked so natural and real that he chased away all spectral frights.
After he had put me back to bed, and sat with me a little, I fell into a
quieter sleep than I had had before; and slept on, indeed, quite late,
for nobody called me the next morning, and I did not come down until
prayers were over, and breakfast just about to commence.

Only my father and Dr. Wilson were in the room. My father looked very
anxious; but Dr. Wilson spoke to me cheerily enough.

"So this is the young gentleman," he said, drawing me towards him, "that
is not content to walk by day, but must needs walk by night also!" and
he looked straight at me, as if he could read me through and through;
whilst I, knowing the dreadful story hidden in my heart, felt quite
alarmed lest he might read _that_ there; and I could feel the beatings
of my heart, as if a steam-engine were at work, as I tried not to meet
the glance of those keen, piercing eyes.

He released me after a moment, and presently afterwards said to my
father,--

"Close your lesson-books for a while; the boat and the saddle will be
the best lesson-books, or you may have more trouble than you think of."

I felt sure what he said had something to do with me, and wondered what
he meant,--finding the explanation in Mr. Glengelly's strange
indisposition to give me anything but a drawing-lesson tha