"There it is," he said, "the usual thing--the globe of light and the picture in the middle. There lies the murdered man on his back. Yes, that is the bit of the Plain that I know so well--the moon drifts behind the clouds--now it shines out, and I see the face of the murdered man--but the murderer, who is he? Why will he keep his back to me? Good God! why can't I see his face? Look, can't you see for yourself? Margaret, can't you see?--do you notice the stick in his hand?--it is my stick--and--the scoundrel, he wears my clothes. Yes, those clothes are mine. My God, what does this mean?" CHAPTER XIII. "Come, Awdrey, wake up, you don't know what you are talking about," said the doctor. He grasped his patient firmly by one arm, and shook him slightly. The dazed and stricken man gazed at the doctor in astonishment. "Where am I, and what is the matter?" he asked. "You are spending the night in my house, and have just had a bad dream," said Dr. Rumsey. "Don't go back to bed just yet. Come and sit by the fire for a few minutes." As the doctor spoke, he put a warm padded dressing-gown of his own over his shivering and cowed-looking patient. Awdrey wrapped himself in it, and approached the fire. Dr. Rumsey drew a chair forward. He noticed the shaking hands, thin almost to emaciation, the sunken cheeks, the glazed expression of the eyes, the look of age and mental irritation which characterized the face. "Poor fellow? no wonder that he should be simply slipping out of life if this kind of thing continues night after night," thought the doctor. "What is to be done with him? His is one of the cases which baffle Science. Well, at least, he wants heaps of nourishment to enable him to bear up. I'll go downstairs and prepare a meal for him." He spoke aloud. "You shiver, Awdrey, are you cold?" "Not very," replied Awdrey, trying to smile, although his lips chattered. He looked into the fire, and held out one hand to the grateful blaze. "You'll feel much better after you have taken a prescription which I mean to make up for you. I'll go and prepare it now. Do you mind being left alone?" "Certainly not. Why should I?" "He has already forgotten his terrors," thought Dr. Rumsey. "Queer case, incomprehensible. I never met one like it before. In these days, it is true, one comes across all forms of psychological distress. Nothing now ought to be new or startling to medical science, but this certainly is marvellous." The doctor speedily returned with a plate of cold meat, some bread and butter, and a bottle of champagne. "As we are both spending the night other than it should be spent," he said, "we must have nourishment. I am going to eat, will you join me?" "I feel hungry," answered Awdrey. "I should be glad of something." The doctor fed him as though he were an infant. He drank off two glasses of champagne, and then the color returned to his cheeks, and some animation to his sunken eyes.