room, of course, was empty. The deep hush of the summer night lay over
all, broken only by another sound that now issued from the shadows close
beside the bed, a human sound, yet unnatural, a sound that seized the
fear with which she had waked and instantly increased it. And, although
it was one she recognized as familiar, at first she could not name it.
Some seconds certainly passed--and, they were very long ones--before she
understood that it was her husband talking in his sleep.

The direction of the voice confused and puzzled her, moreover, for it
was not, as she first supposed, beside her. There was distance in it.
The next minute, by the light of the sinking candle flame, she saw his
white figure standing out in the middle of the room, half-way towards
the window. The candle-light slowly grew. She saw him move then nearer
to the window, with arms outstretched. His speech was low and mumbled,
the words running together too much to be distinguishable.

And she shivered. To her, sleep-talking was uncanny to the point of
horror; it was like the talking of the dead, mere parody of a living
voice, unnatural.

"David!" she whispered, dreading the sound of her own voice, and half
afraid to interrupt him and see his face. She could not bear the sight
of the wide-opened eyes. "David, you're walking in your sleep. Do--come
back to bed, dear, _please!_"

Her whisper seemed so dreadfully loud in the still darkness. At the
sound of her voice he paused, then turned slowly round to face her. His
widely-opened eyes stared into her own without recognition; they looked
through her into something beyond; it was as though he knew the
direction of the sound, yet cold not see her. They were shining, she