solicitously inquire what were the words that he had uttered; but
Ambrose's report was seldom satisfactory, because he had attended to
them but little, and because he grudged every moment in which he was
deprived of his accustomed repose.

Whether Clithero had ceased from this practice, or habit had reconciled
his companion to the sounds, they no longer occasioned any interruption
to his slumber.

No one appeared more shocked than he at the death of Waldegrave. After
this event his dejection suddenly increased. This symptom was observed
by the family, but none but the housekeeper took the trouble to notice
it to him, or build conjectures on the incident. During nights, however,
Ambrose experienced a renewal of his ancient disturbances. He remarked
that Clithero, one night, had disappeared from his side. Ambrose's range
of reflection was extremely narrow. Quickly falling asleep, and finding
his companion beside him when he awoke, he dismissed it from his mind.

On several ensuing nights he awakened in like manner, and always found
his companion's place empty. The repetition of so strange an incident at
length incited him to mention it to Clithero. The latter was confounded
at this intelligence. He questioned Ambrose with great anxiety as to the
particulars of this event, but he could gain no satisfaction from the
stupid inattention of the other. From this time there was a visible
augmentation of his sadness. His fits of taciturnity became more
obstinate, and a deeper gloom sat upon his brow.

There was one other circumstance, of particular importance, mentioned by
the housekeeper. One evening some one on horseback stopped at this gate.
He rattled at the gate, with an air of authority, in token of his desire