"Oh, you don't know how quiet and cunning sleepwalkers are; the stillness with which they carry on their migrations is incredible," was his rejoinder. "You must never be surprised at anything they do." But I noticed one thing: that he did not deny the existence of a second door. In spite of his plausible reasoning, I could not divest myself of the conviction that he had not left his chamber by the entrance near mine. "Is it a nightly occurrence, sir?" "What—my walking about? Oh dear, no! Months and years sometimes elapse, and I have nothing of it. The last time I 'walked'—is not that an ominous word for the superstitious?—must be at least two years ago." "And then only for one night, sir?" "For more than one," he replied, a strangely-grave expression settling on his countenance. "So, if you see me again, Miss Hereford, do not be alarmed, or think I have taken sudden leave of my senses." "Mr. Chandos, can nothing be done for you? To prevent it, I mean." "Nothing at all." "If—if Lady Chandos, or one of the men-servants were to lock you in the room at night?" I timidly suggested. "And if I—finding egress stopped that way—were to precipitate myself from the window, in my unconsciousness, what then, Miss Hereford?" "Oh, don't talk of it!" I said, hiding my eyes with a shudder. "I do not understand these things: I spoke in ignorance." "Happily few do understand them," he replied. "I have given you this in strict confidence, Miss Hereford; you will, I am sure, regard it as such. No one knows of it except my mother; but she would not like you to speak of it to her." "Certainly not. Then the servants do not know it?" "Not one: not even Hill. It would be most disagreeable to me were the unpleasant fact to reach them; neither might they be willing to remain in a house where there was a sleepwalker. The last time the roving fit was upon me, some of them unfortunately saw me from the upper window; they recognised me, and came to the conclusion, by some subtle force of reasoning, explainable only by themselves, that it was my 'fetch,' or ghost. It was the first time I had ever heard of ghosts of the living appearing," he added, with a slight laugh. "Do you think they saw you last night?" was my next question. "I hope not," he replied, in a tone meant to be a light one; but that, to my ear, told of ill-concealed anxiety. "But—Mr. Chandos!—there are no windows in the servants' part of the house that look this way!" I exclaimed, the recollection flashing on me. "There is one. That small Gothic window in the turret. The fear that some of them may have been looking out is worrying my mother." "It is that, perhaps, that has made Lady Chandos ill."