himself, he contrived to lay aside a portion of his dress, and to dispose
himself within the folds of balmy bedclothes that awaited him. In forty
seconds he was dreaming.

Nearly an hour had elapsed when he half woke from an uneasy slumber, and
strove to collect his drowsy faculties. His sleep had been disturbed by
frightful visions. He had passed through a scene of violence on the Common;
he had been engaged in a life-and-death struggle with his new acquaintance;
he had been seized by unseen hands, and thrown into a vast vault. His brain
throbbed and his heart ached, as he endeavored to disentangle the
bewildering fancies of his sleep from wakeful reality.

He lay with his face to the wall, and the grotesque decorations of the
paper assumed ghostly forms, and moved menacingly before his eyes,
thrilling him through and through.

In a few moments the murmur of voices close at hand aroused him more
effectually. He then recollected the incidents of the night, and reproached
himself for his wild excesses, and his reckless and imprudent confidence in
a stranger. He dreaded to think what the consequences might be, and again
became confused with the memories of his distressing dreams.

Three facts, however, were fastened upon his mind. He could not forget
Glover's singular glance at his roll of bank-notes,--the hesitation to
converse about the garrote,--nor the bottle of acid which would "wash away
anything." Would it wash away stains of blood?

The sounds of subdued conversation again arrested his attention. He
listened earnestly, but without changing his position.