But he could not sleep. He was overtired and turned restlessly from side to side, now drawing up his feet, now stretching them out. As he lay there the thought of the black, glistening, silent moat returned to him. “Meddlesome brat,” he muttered to himself, “you got what you deserved.” The thought, however, would not depart but kept returning to him, and his imagination would dwell upon something dark floating on the surface of the water. “The fiends of hell get hold of thee,” he uttered aloud in a hoarse whisper, sitting up in bed. As he sat up he heard a noise as of some one at his door. “Could any one be listening?” He rose softly and listened himself on the inner side. No, there was surely nothing. He cautiously opened the door and peered out into the shadowy passage. As he did so the door was drawn sharply from his hand and closed. For a moment he dared not move, but stood trembling, waiting, expectant. He heard a distant horse on the cobble stones, then absolute silence save the low wailing whistle of a gust of wind. It seemed to bring back Aline’s little white terrified face as she tried to cry out when he held her in his grip with his hand over her mouth. The cold sweat broke out on his forehead and then suddenly the tension relaxed,--“The wind, the wind; it was the wind that had blown the door out of his hand.” He shivered and got back into bed. Again he heard horses’ hoofs; this time they came nearer and nearer, they were surely coming to the inn. Yes, they had stood still at the door. He leaped up and frantically slipped on his clothes, while they were knocking for admission. Should he try and escape down the stairs or through the window, down into the yard of the hostel? He went to the other window and peeped out. It was a man and a woman,--probably an eloping couple! He laughed a thin mirthless laugh and once more got back into bed. This time he slept and dreamed that he was looking out of the window into the hostel yard. Gradually it filled with dark water nearly level with the sill. Then he saw something on the other side, floating on the surface. It seemed to be coming his way. Slowly it rose;--it was Aline, her arms hanging limply from the shoulders and the head falling over to one side, with the mouth open and a great gash above the forehead. It came nearer still. He tried to get away from the window, but something held him. He strove and struggled in vain. “Oh, that terrible mouth, that blood in the long wet hair.” Then the figure lifted a hand and pointed at him. In another moment she would touch him. “Maria! God!” he shrieked, but slowly it came closer and closer. He shut his eyes; there was a great shock and he woke. He was lying on the floor with his heart beating violently and a pain in the back of his head.