Yet those fingers were strangling him! His struggles grew weaker, and he was losing consciousness, when he heard a growl and a bark, and felt some heavy body leap upon the bed. The battle now began in earnest, and as Pouncer tore at the hideous creature who was murdering him, as they strained and fought together, the grip at Grif’s throat relaxed, and he opened his eyes. CHAPTER XVIII GRIF AWAKENS ‘Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes, Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose On this afflicted prince; fall like a cloud, In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud, Or painful to his slumbers; easy, light, And as a purling stream, thou son of Night, Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain, Like hollow murmuring wind or silver rain; Into this prince gently, oh, gently slide, And kiss him into slumbers like a bride.’ ――_Fletcher._ “Get down Pouncer, naughty dog!” It was Aunt Caroline who spoke, and Pouncer jumped off the bed, though he still continued to growl with a deep threatening note. Grif gazed around him. The room was lit by a shaded lamp, and a fire was burning in the grate. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “What has happened?” “Nothing, dear. It was only Pouncer who jumped on to your bed. I was asleep, I think, or half asleep, when I heard him growling; and then before I could move he had sprung right up beside you. I expect he had been dreaming, for he seemed very angry and excited, just as if he were going to attack some one.” “So he was,” said Grif. “There was something there――a shadow. Hasn’t there been a shadow over there, near the door, for a long time? It is gone now, but it was there all evening. Didn’t you see it? It was there for hours before it got on the bed. Pouncer must have killed it, or frightened it away.” Aunt Caroline appeared to take his words for the lingering echoes of the delirium through which he had passed, for she did not answer, but only tried to soothe him. “How are you feeling, dear?” she asked softly. “Do you think you are a little better?” “Yes, thanks.” He tried to lift his hand, but it was strangely heavy. “You must go to sleep again. Would you like a drink?” “Yes, please. Haven’t I been asleep? Won’t it soon be morning?” “No; it is just half-past twelve.” “Then I’ve only been asleep a little while. I thought it must be Monday morning. I’d like something to eat.” “Monday morning is passed. This is Wednesday night. You’ve been ill for three days.” “Three days?” His mind was too languid to grapple with the idea, and he let it go. “And now you must get well quickly.”