Every one knows what it is to arrive at that dreamy state of semi-unconsciousness when the weary senses, failing at once to engage the attentions of the drowsy god, find a sort of relief in a long train of most disconnected thought. It was thus with Derrick. The fatigues of the day had proved too much for even that hardy individual, so that, instead of falling at once into a sound refreshing sleep, he was drowsily conning over the different events which had occurred, his rambling imagination colouring them with a variety of indistinct pictures and incidents. These weird fancies at length grew fainter and fainter, and the attendant was fast sinking into slumber, when suddenly, and as it seemed without a cause, he awoke. Through the casement the moon was staring down upon him like a pale still face, and the greater part of his recumbent person lay bathed in its cold light. All was still; there seemed not the slightest reason why he should be thus aroused. The silence was profound, and the very beating of Derrick’s heart sounded like a hammer thumping time in his head. Scarcely knowing what he does, he sits up on the edge of his bed and listens. Yes; he was not mistaken, there seemed to be a faint noise approaching the old inn—a low measured tramp. The hammer-like beating grows louder as Derrick, with every nerve strained to the utmost pitch, silently rises and once more opens the casement. There can be no mistake now; some persons are approaching; and in that low tramp, distant as it is, he recognises the marching of a body of soldiers. He closes the window softly, and taking his heavy riding-boots in his hand, unfastens the door, and glides softly along the gallery towards his master’s apartment. Owing to the pitchy darkness in which the gallery is enveloped, he experiences some difficulty in groping his way without stumbling; but reaching the further end at last, he feels his way to his master’s door and gives the required signal. It is answered with unexpected suddenness, the door being instantly thrown open, and Sir Carnaby appearing on the threshold. He is fully dressed, like Derrick; he has not even removed his outer clothing, and in his hand is a short broad-bladed knife. The saddle-bags lie upon the table, and a portion of their contents, discernible by a dim night-light, is scattered about; but the black box is gone.