sound that was like the note of a flute, and it occurred to me that everything in the world was only sound――the bed I was lying on, the shadows flickering across the ceiling, the dancing firelight――all were but notes of a tune. This appeared so strikingly obvious that I could not understand why I had never noticed it before. I tried to make out what the tune was, but it eluded me, flickering away from me like a butterfly. I turned round in my bed, for I had heard a slight noise at the door. All seemed now to have grown silent. I could not hear the lamp burning, nor even the fire. This silence was surely unusual, abnormal; it filled me with a vague disquietude. It grew deeper and deeper till I could not hear, even when I strained my ears, the faintest murmur either without or within the house. The silence was like a liquid, luminous atmosphere, through which strange things were floating nearer. It was like a sea, and gradually it darkened into colour――there was a broad, dark, blue sea before me, in a strange, rich light, as if I were watching it through old stained glass. I saw sirens swimming about in the warm, swelling waves, appearing and disappearing. They followed a high-pooped, fantastic ship, just as I had often seen porpoises following a boat out in the bay. The ship moved along slowly, and its broad, coloured sails were embroidered with green dragons that shone like fire, and at its bow was a green, jewelled serpent’s head. Then once more there was nothing but the room, and I heard a faint noise as of someone moving in a chair. Another sound immediately followed, and I started, for it was curiously different; it was the sound one hears before something happens. I watched the handle of the door turn, and the door itself open and close quickly yet stealthily. Three figures had entered. One was a tall figure in brown, with a gun in his gloved hand, and he was followed by a great dark brown dog, who at once leaped on to the bed and sat at the foot, watching me with sombre, burning eyes. The third figure was Miss McWaters. Her nose was longer and redder than I had ever seen it before, and it kept twitching from side to side in a curious way; her big teeth flashed in an unpleasant grin, and her fringe waved and curled about as if it were alive. For the third time I heard the strange little mocking laugh that had come from behind the picture, but I could not discover who had uttered it. Perhaps it was Miss McWaters, for I knew she was waiting for me to say something――a verse of poetry――yes, I remembered: “Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower’d, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky.” Then a dense, heavy darkness swept up, blotting out everything. CHAPTER V