Before the adventure which we have now related had come to pass, many strange occurrences had happened in Carthagena. On the evening of that day when Sir Folko de Montfaucon had been carried as a dead man into the royal cemetery, behold! there came some one late in the night, disguised in such manner that the sentinels could not distinguish his features; but they heard him strike three times as with an iron-glove, or somewhat else that rung and rattled in his hand, against the iron trellis-work by which the vault was secured. On hearing that sound, they thought of rushing from their posts, and demanding of the stranger what was his purpose there at such an hour; but in the same moment weariness and sleep fell heavily upon them, so that, one by one, they dropped down powerless, and as if fainting and insensible, on the ground. Meanwhile the disguised man continued to ring and rattle against the iron-bars, till at length there was a strange noise of heaving and struggling within the vault, as if the dead were starting into life. This was indeed Sir Folko de Montfaucon, who now raised himself from amid the bloody clothes in which he had been wrapt, and said in a strange hoarse voice, “Good Heaven, how cold and dark is this bed!” Then, after a pause of recollection, he began again, “Or if I am really among the dead, how comes it that I yet feel such burning and feverish pain? And wherefore am I not relieved from this earthly prison, and floating through the wide realms of the blue sky?” “Sir knight,” said the disguised man without, “you are indeed alive, only you are not yet recovered from your fever and your wounds. Only be of good courage, and beware of falling into dreams. I shall be with you anon, and will make you sound and well.” Thereafter, as the strange man continued to beat upon the iron-bars, the Chevalier de Montfaucon felt his senses more and more bewildered, and saw the strangest phantoms floating around him. He felt indeed as one who struggles with sleep and frightful visions, and could have fallen once more into death-like slumbers, had not the mysterious stranger ever and anon repeated in a loud voice the same words,--“Beware of dreams, Knight of Montfaucon! Beware of dreams!”