At length I controlled myself sufficiently to pull off my clothes and scramble into bed. But there was no sleep for me. Long after my father had crept in beside me I lay listening, listening for I knew not what; for I felt the growing conviction that soon there would come a clear call for me, and I should have to arise and go to meet what fate should send. And all the while the wind came rushing from the moors, to whirl about the ruins as in a witches' dance, shrieking and clamouring and tugging at the walls, and raced away in scampering gusts far into the distance. And through it I caught faint echoes of that ghostly moan, a kind of _Ughh! Ughh!_ of unutterable pain. I couldn't help thinking of Worthing, alone there among the crazy ruins, and wondering how the night was passing for him. Likely enough, I thought bitterly, he was serenely sleeping while I was tossing in a fever on his account; for I knew that if it hadn't been for him I wouldn't have suffered all this terror, for this night was no worse than others had been; and to me ghosts weren't alarming things, but creatures that gave to the night a delicious shuddering thrill. And so tossing and listening I fell at length into a troubled sleep, to be awakened by a shattering cry that rang in my ears like an echo. I sat bolt upright, my heart hammering; but my father didn't move. How was it possible? I asked myself. How could he sleep through it? I felt out towards him and whispered, "Daddy!" I didn't notice till then that I was gasping as though I had run a race. I touched him, and felt his chest rising and falling calmly and evenly. I lay down again, but I was wide-awake, and I was telling myself that Worthing was in danger, and I ought to go to him. But I dared not. So I lay awhile listening to the wind as it howled through the night, till I grew calmer, strangely calm, and a new courage came to me. "This is all nonsense," I said. "I'll go and see."