I dashed out of doors to see if anything could be done with the watch-dog, a massive brute, judged without sufficient reason to be ferocious. He was asleep, of course, but came forth from his kennel when I touched his nose, recognised me instantly, wagged his idiotic tail, and showed an evident desire to be patted. I couldn’t pat him, but I should like to have kicked him, and I’m not ashamed to say so. I tried to rouse the dog’s spirit; I threw imaginary stones, and frisked about and pretended to steal its supper; but the lumbering brute regarded me with that good-tempered glance bred from conscious superiority, and then went back into its kennel. If ever a spirit was more utterly crushed, sat upon, scorned and smothered by the flesh than I that night, I should like to learn the particulars. Warren had now taken his sack into the dining-room, had cut two window-panes out with a diamond (why, I could not at the time understand), and then, opening the window widely, lowered his booty into the garden. I fled out again to strike terror, if possible, into the hearts of his vile accomplices, but found, to my surprise, that there were none. Single-handed he was effecting this dark deed. Then a final desperate resolution came to my mind; I would rouse Miss Ethel Smithson herself, and show her the man she loved in his true colours. Even then my natural kindness of disposition caused me to hesitate. But if you see, as I did then, love’s young dream drifting into a nightmare, you are justified in shattering it. No burglar could bring true and lasting happiness into a gentlewoman’s life. That, at least, is my view. “Why, ghost,” said Ethel, rubbing her eyes after I had waked her, “I don’t think it was kind of you to spoil a beautiful dream I was having about--but never mind, it won’t interest you.” I beckoned mystically, and she showed a little interest. I retreated, inch by inch, to the door, waving her after me. Hamlet’s father’s spirit never did anything better or more solemn and impressive. By all the curiosity of young ladies, she rose! She put on a dressing-gown and slippers! She said, “Whatever is it? I do hope there’s nothing happened to Talbot.” My heart bled for her, but I was firm, and she followed me out on to the dark landing. A dim light flickered from a doorway far below. This Miss Smithson instantly observed, and deducing a theory therefrom with marvellous celerity, had the good sense to cry “Thieves!” as loud as she possibly could do so. Then she bolted into her father’s room, made the same remark, and finally retired to her own apartment, locking the door behind her.