would call me in the morning at eight o'clock for breakfast.

My sleep that night was disturbed by dreams, which though vague filled me
with terror.

I imagined that I was walking through a long corridor, opening into a
sumptuous apartment, its interior partly concealed by rich folds of
damask curtains. I lifted the heavy drapery and essayed to enter, but a
cold hand grasped mine and prevented me. A woman's figure, slight and
youthful, with white face, great sad eyes, and long yellow hair, stood in
the arched doorway and pressed me back with her clammy hand. I started up
from my pillow in alarm to find myself alone; the pale moonbeams
streaming through the looped curtains of the window and glancing upon my
forehead, I thought, probably accounted for the cold hand of my dream. I
slept, and dreamed again. The scene was changed: a field of stubble lay
before me; through it I must make my way; the rough ground hurt my feet;
I stumbled and fell; attempting to rise, I saw painted in clear relief
against the horizon the same female figure.

Her pale, golden hair hung long and loose over her shoulders. As she
caught my eye she lifted her finger as if in warning, and disappeared
from sight.




CHAPTER II.


From these dreams I awakened in the morning perplexed, disturbed, and