I ordered strawberries and cream into the hayfield, and played with my troop of little ones there, until they were so tired they could hardly walk for the short distance that lay between them and their beds. As soon as they were dismissed, and we had returned to the house, I laid aside the newspapers that had arrived by that morning’s post, and which I usually reserved for the evening’s delectation, and taking my wife upon my knee, as in the dear old courting days, talked to her until she had forgotten everything but the topics on which we conversed, and had no time to brood upon the coming night, and the fears it usually engendered. Then, as a last duty, I carried to Dawson with my own hands a strong decoction of brandy and water, with which I had mixed something that I knew, under ordinary circumstances, must make him sleep till daylight. “Drink this,” I said to him. “From whatever cause, our nerves were both shaken last night, and a little stimulant will do neither of us harm.” “Thank you, sir,” he replied, as he finished the tumbler at a draught; “I don’t deny I’m glad to have it. I dread the thoughts of the night before us.” “Lock your door on the inside,” I added as I left him, “and don’t get up whether the handle moves or not. Then, at all events, you will feel secure till the morrow.” “Keys won’t keep _them_ out,” muttered Dawson, as he entered his sleeping apartment. But I would not notice the allusion, though I understood it. I went up to bed with my wife as usual; and it was not until I saw she was sound asleep that, habited in my dressing-gown and slippers, I ventured to creep softly out of the room and take my way downstairs again. It was then about twelve o’clock. The moonlight was as bright as it had been the night before, and made every object distinctly visible. From the loud snoring which proceeded from Dawson’s room, I concluded that my opiate had taken due effect, and that I should be permitted to hold my vigil undisturbed. In one hand I grasped a loaded revolver, and in the other a huge knotted stick, so determined was I not to be taken by my tormentors at a disadvantage. I turned into the general sitting-room, which opened on the hall. All was as we had left it; and I ensconced myself on one of the large old-fashioned sofas, trusting to my curiosity to keep me awake. It was weary waiting. I heard one and then two sound from the big clock in the hall; still there was no other noise to break the silence. I began to relapse into my first belief that the whole business was due to imagination. From this I passed to self-satisfaction; self-satisfaction induced inertion, and inertion brought on heavy sleep. How long I slept I do not know, but I had reason afterwards to think, not more than half-an-hour. However, that point is immaterial. But what waked me--waked me so completely that in a moment all my faculties were as clear as daylight--was the sound of a hoarse breathing. I sat up on the sofa and rubbed my eyes.