In his own heart he knew that this was likely to be easier said than done. Ever since he had seen it on that memorable Thursday night, Teresina’s piteous face had been before him, and now with the recollection of what had followed so close upon their interview to deepen the impression, it was more than likely that some time would elapse before he would be able to forget it. That night, when he went to bed, he found it difficult to get to sleep. It was as if the events of the morrow were casting their shadows before, and when he did sleep he was assailed with the most villainous dreams. He saw himself in a garret room with Teresina kneeling before him holding up her hands in piteous entreaty; then he saw her lying dead upon the floor, her glassy eyes looking up at him as if in mute reproach. A moment later he was sitting up in bed staring at Victor Fensden, who was standing beside him, holding a candle in his hand, and with a look upon his face that showed he was almost beside himself with terror. “Good Heavens, man, what is the matter?” cried Godfrey, for the other’s face frightened him. It was as white as paper, while in his eyes there shone a light that was scarcely that of reason. “Let me stay with you, let me stay with you!” he cried. “If I am left alone I don’t know what I shall do. I have had such dreams to-night that I dare not even close my eyes. For God’s sake give me brandy! I must have something to bring back my courage. Look, look! Can’t you see, man, how badly I need it?” Needless to say, Godfrey saw this. Accordingly bidding him remain where he was, he went off to procure some. When he returned he found Victor seated on the settee at the foot of the bed. Apparently he had recovered his self-command. “I am afraid you must think me an awful fool, Godfrey,” he said. “But I have really had a deuce of a fright. You don’t know what awful dreams I had. I could not have stayed alone in that room another minute.” It must indeed have been a fright, for Godfrey noticed that, though he pretended to have recovered, he was still trembling. “Well, I am glad to see that you are feeling better,” he said. “Drink some of this, it will make a new man of you.” “If it could do that I’d drink a hogshead,” he said bitterly. “If there’s one man in this world of whose society I am heartily sick, it is Victor Fensden. Now I’ll go back to my own room. Forgive me for disturbing you, won’t you, but I could not help myself.” So saying, he took up his candle once more and returned to his own room, leaving Godfrey to put what construction he thought best upon the incident. “I am beginning to think that poor Victor is not quite right in his head,” said the latter to himself as he blew out his candle and composed himself for slumber once more. CHAPTER IX