He dreamed that he was standing upon the seashore. It was a wide, low shore, with a long, long stretch of sand that shone like silver under a silver moon. It shone because it was wet, still quite wet from the touch of the tide. The tide was very low. David stood on the shore, and saw the moon go down into the sea. As it went down it changed slowly. It became golden, and the sand turned golden too. A wind began to blow in from the sea. A wind from the west—a wind that was strong, and yet very gentle. At the edge of the sea there stood a woman, with long floating hair and a long floating dress. She stood between David and the golden moon, and the wind blew out her dress and her long floating hair. But David never saw her face. Always he longed to see her face, but he never saw it. He stood upon the shore and could not move to go to her. When he was a boy he used to walk in his sleep in the nights when he had this dream. Once he was awakened by the touch of cold stones under his bare feet. And there he stood, just as he had come from bed, on the wet door-step, with the front door open behind him. After that he locked his door. Now he walked in his sleep no longer, and it was more than a year since he had dreamed the dream at all, but to-night it came to him again. CHAPTER III DEAD MEN’S SHOES There’s many a weary game to be played With never a penny to choose, But the weariest game in all the world Is waiting for dead men’s shoes. It was about a week later that Edward Mottisfont rang David Blake up on the telephone and begged him in agitated accents, to come to Mr. Mottisfont without delay. “It’s another attack—a very bad one,” said Edward in the hall. His voice shook a little, and he seemed very nervous. David thought it was certainly a bad attack. He also thought it a strange one. The old man was in great pain, and very ill. Elizabeth Chantrey was in the room, but after a glance at his patient, David sent her away. As she went she made a movement to take up an empty cup which stood on the small table beside the bed, and old Mr. Edward Mottisfont fairly snapped at her. “Leave it, will you—I’ve stopped Edward taking it twice. Leave it, I say!” Elizabeth went out without a word, and Mr. Mottisfont caught David’s wrist in a shaky grip. “D’ you know why I wouldn’t let her take that cup? D’ you know why?” “No, sir——” Old Mr. Mottisfont’s voice dropped to a thread. He was panting a little. “I was all right till I drank that damned tea, David,” he said, “and Edward brought it to me—Edward——” “Come, sir—come—” said David gently. He was really fond of this queer old man, and he was distressed for him. “David, you won’t let him give me things—you’ll look to it. Look in the cup. I wouldn’t let ’em take the cup—there’s dregs. Look at ’em, David.”