"You shall judge--I have hallucinations. I wake every night and see
in my room, intently watching me, a big black Newfoundland dog with a
white forefoot."

"You say you wake; are you sure about that? 'Hallucinations' are
sometimes only dreams."

"Oh, I wake, all right. Sometimes I lie still a long time, looking
at the dog as earnestly as the dog looks at me--I always leave the
light going. When I can't endure it any longer I sit up in bed--and
nothing is there!"

"'M, 'm--what is the beast's expression?"

"It seems to me sinister. Of course I know that, except in art, an
animal's face in repose has always the same expression. But this is
not a real animal. Newfoundland dogs are pretty mild looking, you
know; what's the matter with this one?"

"Really, my diagnosis would have no value: I am not going to treat
the dog."

The physician laughed at his own pleasantry, but narrowly watched his
patient from the corner of his eye. Presently he said: "Fleming,
your description of the beast fits the dog of the late Atwell
Barton."

Fleming half-rose from his chair, sat again and made a visible
attempt at indifference. "I remember Barton," he said; "I believe he