as of something soft and light traveling slowly over the
surface of the carpet, and brushing it just loud enough to be heard.

Little by little, the sound came nearer and nearer to my bed--and then
suddenly stopped just as I fancied it was close by me.

I still lay immovable, with closed eyes; drowsily waiting for the next
sound that might reach my ears; drowsily content with the silence, if
the silence continued. My thoughts (if thoughts they could be called)
were drifting back again into their former course, when I became
suddenly conscious of soft breathing just above me. The next moment I
felt a touch on my forehead--light, soft, tremulous, like the touch of
lips that had kissed me. There was a momentary pause. Then a low sigh
trembled through the silence. Then I heard again the still, small sound
of something brushing its way over the carpet; traveling this time
_from_ my bed, and moving so rapidly that in a moment more it was lost
in the silence of the night.

Still stupefied by the drug that I had taken, I could lazily wonder what
had happened, and I could do no more. Had living lips really touched me?
Was the sound that I had heard really the sound of a sigh? Or was it all
delusion, beginning and ending in a dream? The time passed without my
deciding, or caring to decide, those questions. Minute by minute, the
composing influence of the draught began at last to strengthen its
hold on my brain. A cloud seemed to pass softly over my last waking
impressions. One after another, the ties broke gently that held me to
conscious life. I drifted peacefully into perfect sleep.

Shortly after sunrise, I awoke. When I regained the use of my memory,
my first clear recollection was the recollection of the soft breathing
which I had felt above me--then of the touch on my forehead, and of
the sigh which I had heard after it. Was it possible that some one had
entered my room in the night? It was quite possible. I had not locked
the door--I had never been in the habit of locking the door during my
residence under Mr. Dunross's roof.

After thinking it over a little, I rose to examine my room.

Nothing in the shape of a discovery rewarded me, until I reached the
door. Though I had not locked it overnight, I had certainly satisfied
myself that it was closed before I went to bed. It was now ajar. Had
it opened again, through being imperfectly shut? or had a person, after
entering and leaving my room, forgotten to close it?