"I told her she must have been dreaming," retorted Miss Blake. "People
who wake all of a sudden often confound dreams with realities."

"And people who are not in the habit of awaking suddenly often do the
same thing," agreed her questioner; "and so, Miss Blake, we will pass
out of dreamland, and into daylight--or rather foglight. Do you
recollect a particularly foggy day, when your niece, hearing a favourite
dog moaning piteously, opened the door of the room where her father
died, in order to let it out?"

Miss Blake set her lips tight, and looked up at the gallery. There was
a little stir in that part of the court, a shuffling of feet, and
suppressed whispering. In vain the crier shouted, "Silence! silence,
there!" The bustle continued for about a minute, and then all became
quiet again. A policeman stated "a female had fainted," and our
curiosity being satisfied, we all with one accord turned towards our
learned friend, who, one hand under his gown, holding it back, and the
other raised to emphasise his question, had stood in this picturesque
attitude during the time occupied in carrying the female out, as if
done in stone.

"Miss Blake, will you kindly answer my question?" he said, when order
once again reigned in court.

"You're worse than a heathen," remarked the lady, irrelevantly.

"I am sorry you do not like me," he replied, "for I admire you very
much; but my imperfections are beside the matter in point. What I want
you to tell us is, did Miss Elmsdale open that door?"