"'Margaret,' he says, 'for God's sake look. Tell me that you see it too.' "'I see nothing,' I answer him. "'Then the vision is for me alone. It haunts me. What have I done to deserve it? Margaret, there is a circle of light over there--in the centre a picture--it is the picture of a murder. Two men are in it--yes, I know now--I am looking at the Plain near the Court--the moon is hidden behind the clouds--there are two men--they fight. God in heaven, one man falls--the other bends over him. I see the face of the fallen man, but I cannot see the face of the other. I should rest content if I could only see his face. Who is he, Margaret, who is he?' "He falls back on his pillow half-fainting. "This sort of thing goes on night after night, Dr. Rumsey. Toward morning the vision which tortures my unhappy husband begins to fade, he sinks into heavy slumber, and awakens late in the morning with no memory whatever of the horrible thing which has haunted him during the hours of darkness. "The days which follow are more full than ever of that terrible inertia, and now he begins to look what he really is, a man stricken with an awful doom. "The symptoms you speak of are certainly alarming," said Dr. Rumsey, after a pause. "They point to a highly unsatisfactory state of the nerve centres. These symptoms, joined to what you have already told me of the peculiar malady which Awdrey inherits, make his case a grave one. Of course, I by no means give up hope, but the recurrence of this vision nightly is a singular symptom. Does Awdrey invariably speak of not being able to see the face of the man who committed the murder?" "Yes, he always makes a remark to that effect. He seems every night to see the murdered man lying on the ground with his face upward, but the man who commits the murder has his back to him. Last night he shrieked out in absolute terror on the subject: "'Who is the man? That man on the ground is Horace Frere--he has been hewn down in the first strength of his youth--he is a dead man. There stands the murderer, with his back to me, but who is he? Oh, my God!' he cried out with great passion, 'who is the one who has done this deed? Who has murdered Horace Frere? I would give all I possess, all that this wide world contains, only to catch one glimpse of his face.' "He sprang out of bed as he spoke, and went a step or two in the direction where he saw the peculiar vision, clasping his hands, and staring straight before him like a person distraught, and almost out of his mind. I followed him and tried to take his hand. "'Robert!' I said, 'you know, don't you, quite well, who murdered Horace Frere? Poor fellow, it was not murder in the ordinary sense. Frank Everett is the name of the man whose face you cannot see. But it is an old story now, and you have nothing to do with it, nothing whatever--don't let it dwell any longer on your mind.'