Before　he　could　answer　she　passed　him　and　left　the　room。　He　saw
  her　walk　away　up　the　street。
  Would　she　return？
  All　that　night　he　watched　and　waited；　but　no　footstep　came　near
  the　house。　The　next　night；　overpowered　by　fatigue；　he　lay　down　in
  bed　in　his　clothes；　with　the　door　locked；　the　key　on　the　table；
  and　the　candle　burning。　His　slumber　was　not　disturbed。　The　third
  night；　the　fourth；　the　fifth；　the　sixth　passed；　and　nothing
  happened。
  He　lay　down　on　the　seventh；　still　in　his　clothes；　still　with　the
  door　locked；　the　key　on　the　table；　and　the　candle　burning；　but
  easier　in　his　mind。
  Easier　in　his　mind；　and　in　perfect　health　of　body　when　he　fell
  off　to　sleep。　But　his　rest　was　disturbed。　He　woke　twice　without
  any　sensation　of　uneasiness。　But　the　third　time　it　was　that
  never…to…be…forgotten　shivering　of　the　night　at　the　lonely　inn；
  that　dreadful　sinking　pain　at　the　heart；　which　once　more　aroused
  him　in　an　instant。
  His　eyes　opened　toward　the　left…hand　side　of　the　bed；　and　there
  stoodThe　Dream…Woman　again？　No！　His　wife；　the　living　reality；
  with　the　dream…specter's　face；　in　the　dream…specter's　attitude；
  the　fair　arm　up；　the　knife　clasped　in　the　delicate　white　hand。
  He　sprang　upon　her　almost　at　the　instant　of　seeing　her；　and　yet
  not　quickly　enough　to　prevent　her　from　hiding　the　knife。　Without
  a　word　from　himwithout　a　cry　from　herhe　pinioned　her　in　a
  chair。　With　one　hand　he　felt　up　her　sleeve；　and　there；　where　the
  Dream…Woman　had　hidden　the　knife；　his　wife　had　hidden　itthe
  knife　with　the　buckhorn　handle；　that　looked　like　new。
  In　the　despair　of　that　fearful　moment　his　brain　was　steady；　his
  heart　was　calm。　He　looked　at　her　fixedly　with　the　knife　in　his
  hand；　and　said　these　last　words：
  〃You　told　me　we　should　see　each　other　no　more；　and　you　have　come
  back。　It　is　my　turn　now　to　go；　and　to　go　forever。　I　say　that　we
  shall　see　each　other　no　more；　and　my　word　shall　not　be　broken。〃
  He　left　her；　and　set　forth　into　the　night。　There　was　a　bleak　wind
  abroad；　and　the　smell　of　recent　rain　was　in　the　air。　The　distant
  church…clocks　chimed　the　quarter　as　he　walked　rapidly　beyond　the
  last　houses　in　the　suburb。　He　asked　the　first　policeman　he　met
  what　hour　that　was　of　which　the　quarter　past　had　just　struck。
  The　man　referred　sleepily　to　his　watch；　and　answered；　〃Two
  o'clock。〃　Two　in　the　morning。　What　day　of　the　month　was　this　day
  that　had　just　begun？　He　reckoned　it　up　from　the　date　of　his
  mother's　funeral。　The　fatal　parallel　was　complete：　it　was　his
  birthday！
  Had　he　escaped　the　mortal　peril　which　his　dream　foretold？　or　had
  he　only　received　a　second　warning？
  As　that　ominous　doubt　forced　itself　on　his　mind；　he　stopped；
  reflected；　and　turned　back　again　toward　the　city。　He　was　still
  resolute　to　hold　to　his　word；　and　never　to　let　her　see　him　more；
  but　there　was　a　thought　now　in　his　mind　of　having　her　watched　and
  followed。　The　knife　was　in　his　possession；　the　world　was　b　efore
  him；　but　a　new　distrust　of　hera　vague；　unspeakable；
  superstitious　dread　had　overcome　him。
  〃I　must　know　where　she　goes；　now　she　thinks　I　have　left　her；〃　he
  said　to　himself；　as　he　stole　back　wearily　to　the　precincts　of　his
  house。
  It　was　still　dark。　He　had　left　the　candle　burning　in　the
  bedchamber；　but　when　he　looked　up　to　the　window　of　the　room　now
  there　was　no　light　in　it。　He　crept　cautiously　to　the　house　door。
  On　going　away；　he　remembered　to　have　closed　it；　on　trying　it　now；
  he　found　it　open。
  He　waited　outside；　never　losing　sight　of　the　house；　till
  daylight。　Then　he　ventured　indoorslistened；　and　heard
  nothinglooked　into　kitchen；　scullery；　parlor　and　found　nothing；
  went　up　at　last　into　the　bedroomit　was　empty。　A　picklock　lay　on
  the　floor　betraying　how　she　had　gained　entrance　in　the　night；　and
  that　was　the　only　trace　of　her。
  Whither　had　she　gone？　That　no　mortal　tongue　could　tell　him。　The
  darkness　had　covered　her　flight；　and　when　the　day　broke；　no　man
  could　say　where　the　light　found　her。
  Before　leaving　the　house　and　the　town　forever；　he　gave
  instructions　to　a　friend　and　neighbor　to　sell　his　furniture　for
  anything　that　it　would　fetch；　and　apply　the　proceeds　to　employing
  the　police　to　trace　her。　The　directions　were　honestly　followed；
  and　the　money　was　all　spent；　but　the　inquiries　led　to　nothing。
  The　picklock　on　the　bedroom　floor　remained　the　one　last　useless
  trace　of　the　Dream…Woman。
  At　this　point　of　the　narrative　the　landlord　paused；　and；
  turning　toward　the　window　of　the　room　in　which　we　were　sitting；
  looked　in　the　direction　of　the　stable…yard。
  〃So　far；〃　he　said；　〃I　tell　you　what　was　told　to　me。　The　little
  that　remains　to　be　added　lies　within　my　own　experience。　Between
  two　and　three　months　after　the　events　I　have　just　been　relating；
  Isaac　Scatchard　came　to　me；　withered　and　old…looking　before　his
  time；　just　as　you　saw　him　to…day。　He　had　his　testimonials　to
  character　with　him；　and　he　asked　for　employment　here。　Knowing
  that　my　wife　and　he　were　distantly　related；　I　gave　him　a　trial　in
  consideration　of　that　relationship；　and　liked　him　in　spite　of　his
  queer　habits。　He　is　as　sober；　honest；　and　willing　a　man　as　there
  is　in　England。　As　for　his　restlessness　at　night；　and　his　sleeping
  away　his　leisure　time　in　the　day；　who　can　wonder　at　it　after
  hearing　his　story？　Besides；　he　never　objects　to　being　roused　up
  when　he's　wanted；　so　there's　not　much　inconvenience　to　complain
  of；　after　all。〃
  〃I　suppose　he　is　afraid　of　a　return　of　that　dreadful　dream；　and
  of　waking　out　of　it　in　the　dark？〃　said　I。
  〃No；〃　returned　the　landlord。　〃The　dream　comes　back　to　him　so
  often　that　he　has　got　to　bear　with　it　by　this　time　resignedly
  enough。　It's　his　wife　keeps　him　waking　at　night　as　he　has　often
  told　me。〃
  〃What！　Has　she　never　been　heard　of　yet？〃
  〃Never。　Isaac　himself　has　the　one　perpetual　thought　about　her；
  that　she　is　alive　and　looking　for　him。　I　believe　he　wouldn't　let
  himself　drop　off　to　sleep　toward　two　in　the　morning　for　a　king's
  ransom。　Two　in　the　morning；　he　says；　is　the　time　she　will　find
  him；　one　of　these　days。　Two　in　the　morning　is　the　time　all　the
  year　round　when　he　likes　to　be　most　certain　that　he　has　got　that
  clasp…knife　safe　about　him。　He　does　not　mind　being　alone　as　long
  as　he　is　awake；　except　on　the　night　before　his　birthday；　when　he
  firmly　believes　himself　to　be　in　peril　of　his　life。　The　birthday
  has　only　come　round　once　since　he　has　been　here；　and　then　he　sat
  up　along　with　the　night…porter。　'She's　looking　for　me；'　is　all　he
  says　when　anybody　speaks　to　him　about　the　one　anxiety　of　his
  life；　'she's　looking　for　me。'　He　may　be　right。　She　may　be　looking
  for　him。　Who　can　tell？〃
  〃Who　can　tell？〃　said　I。
  THE　FOURTH　DAY。
  THE　sky　once　more　cloudy　and　threatening。　No　news　of　George。　I
  corrected　Morgan's　second　story　to…day；　numbered　it　Seven；　and
  added　it　to　our　stock。
  Undeterred　by　the　weather；　Miss　Jessie　set　off　this　morning　on
  the　longest　ride　she　had　yet　undertaken。　She　had　heardthrough
  one　of　my　brother's　laborers；　I　believeof　the　actual　existence；
  in　this　nineteenth　century；　of　no　less　a　personage　than　a　Welsh
  Bard；　who　was　to　be　found　at　a　distant　farmhouse　far　beyond　the
  limits　of　Owen's　property。　The　prospect　of　discovering　this
  remarkable　relic　of　past　times　hurried　her　off；　under　the
  guidance　of　her　ragged　groom；　in　a　high　state　of　excitement；　to
  see　and　hear　the　venerable　man。　She　was　away　the　whole　day；　and
  for　the　first　time　since　her　visit　she　kept　us　waiting　more　than
  half　an　hour　for　dinner。　The　moment　we　all　sat　down　to　table；　she
  informed　us；　to　Morgan's　great　delight；　that　the　bard　was　a　rank
  impostor。
  〃Why；　what　did　you　expect　to　see？〃　I　asked。
  〃A　Welsh　patriarch；　to　be　sure；　with　a　long　white　beard；　flowing
  robes；　and　a　harp　to　match；〃　answered　Miss　Jessie。
  〃And　what　did　you　find？〃
  〃A　highly…respectable　middle…aged　rustic；　a　smiling；
  smoothly…shaven；　obliging　man；　dressed　in　a　blue　swallow…tailed
  coat；　with　brass　buttons；　and　exhibiting　his　bardic　legs　in　a
  pair　of　extremely　stout。　and　comfortable　corduroy　trousers。〃
  〃But　he　sang　old　Welsh　songs；　surely？〃
  〃Sang！　I'll　tell　you　what　he　did。　He　sat　down　on　a　Windsor　chair；
  without　a　harp；　he　put　his　hands　in　his　pockets；　cleared　his
  throat；　looked　up　at　the　ceiling；　and　suddenly　burst　into　a
  series　of　the　shrillest　falsetto　screeches　I　ever　heard　in　my
  life。　My　own　private　opinion　is　that　he　was　suffering　from
  hydrophobia。　I　have　lost　all　belief；　henceforth　and　forever；　in
  bardsall　belief　in　everything；　in　short；　except　your　very
  delightful　stories　and　this　remarkably　good　dinner。
  Ending　with　that　smart　double　fire　of　compliments　to　her　hosts；
  the　Queen　of　Hearts　honored　us　all　three　with　a　smile　of
  approval；　and　transferred　her　attention　to　her　knife　and　fork。
  The　number　drawn　to…night　was　One。　On　examination　of　the　Purple
  Volume；　it　proved　to　be　my　turn　to　read　again。
  〃Our　story　to…night；〃　I　said；　〃contains　the　narrative　of　a　very
  remarkable　adventure　which　really　befell　me　when　I　was　a　young
  man。　At　the　time　of　my　life　when　these　events　happened　I　was
  dabbling　in　literature　when　I　ought　to　have　been　studying　law；
  and　traveling　on　the　Continent　when　I　ought　to　have　been　keeping
  my　terms　at　Lincoln's　Inn。　At　the　outset　of　the　stor