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."