"Little doubt of that, John. I always sleep when I have nothing to trouble me. A very good-night to _you_." I had nothing to trouble me, and I was as sleepy as could be; and yet, I did not and could not sleep. I lay quiet as usual after getting into bed, yielding to the expected sleep, and I shut my eyes and never thought but it was coming. Instead of that, came restlessness. A strange restlessness quite foreign to me, persistent and unaccountable. I tossed and turned from side to side, and I had not had a wink of sleep at day dawn, nor any symptom of it. Was I growing nervous? Had I let the feeling creep over me that I had suggested to John? No; not that I was aware of. What could it be? Unrefreshed and weary, I got up at the usual hour, and stole silently into the other room. John was in a deep sleep, his calm face lying still upon the pillow. Though I made no noise, my presence awoke him. "Oh, Johnny!" he exclaimed, "I have had _such_ a night." "Bad?" "No; _good_. I went to sleep at once and never woke till now. It has done me a world of good. And you?" "I? Oh well, I don't think I slept quite as well as I did here; it was a strange bed," I answered, carelessly. The next night the same plan was carried out, he taking my bed; I his. And again John slept through it, while I _did not sleep at all_. I said nothing about it: John Whitney's comfort was of more importance than mine. The third night came. This night we had been to the theatre, and had laughed ourselves hoarse, and been altogether delighted. No sooner was I in bed, and feeling dead asleep, than the door slowly opened and in came Lady Whitney, a candle in one hand, a wineglass in the other. "John, my dear," she began, "your tonic was forgotten this evening. I think you had better take it now. Featherston said, you know---- Good gracious!" she broke off. "Why, it is Johnny!" I could hardly speak for laughing, her face presented such a picture of astonishment. Sitting up in bed, I told her all; there was no help for it: that we had exchanged beds, John not having been able to sleep in this one. "And do you sleep well in it?" she asked. "No, not yet. But I feel very sleepy to-night, dear Lady Whitney." "Well, you are a good lad, Johnny, to do this for him; and to say nothing about it," she concluded, as she went away with the candle and the tonic. Dead sleepy though I was, I could not get to sleep. It would be simply useless to try to describe my sensations. Each succeeding night they had been more marked. A strange, discomforting restlessness pervaded me; a feeling of uneasiness, I could not tell why or wherefore. I saw nothing uncanny, I heard nothing; nevertheless, I felt just as though some uncanny presence was in the room, imparting a sense of semi-terror. Once or twice, when I nearly dozed off from sheer weariness, I started up in real terror, wide awake again, my hair and face damp with a nameless fear.