d towards me, and I waited and watched him for nearly half an hour
as he stood there motionless and speechless, and appearing not to
breathe. I am not sure but that this apparition seen so by daylight was
more ghastly than that apparition seen in the middle of the night, with
the thunder rumbling among the hills.

"Back in London in his own house, where he could command in some sort the
objects which should surround him, poor Strange was better than he would
have been elsewhere. He seldom went out except at night, but once or
twice I have walked with him by daylight, and have seen him terribly
agitated when we have had to pass a shop in which looking-glasses were
exposed for sale.

"It is nearly a year now since my poor friend followed me down to this
place, to which I have retired. For some months he has been daily
getting weaker and weaker, and a disease of the lungs has become
developed in him, which has brought him to his death-bed. I should add,
by-the-by, that John Masey has been his constant companion ever since I
brought them together, and I have had, consequently, to look after a new
servant.

"And now tell me," the doctor added, bringing his tale to an end, "did
you ever hear a more miserable history, or was ever man haunted in a more
ghastly manner than this man?"

I was about to reply when I heard a sound of footsteps outside, and
before I could speak old Masey entered the room, in haste and disorder.

"I was just telling this gentleman," the doctor said: not at the moment
observing old Masey's changed manner: "how you deserted me to go over to
your present master."

"Ah! sir," the man answered, in a troubled voice, "I'm afraid he won't be
my master long."

The doctor was on his legs in a moment. "What! Is he worse?"

"I think, sir, he is dying," said the old man.

"Come with me, sir; you may be of use if you can keep quiet." The doctor
caught up his hat as he addressed me in those words, and in a few minutes
we had reached The Compensation House. A few seconds more, and we were
standing in a darkened room on the first floor, and I saw lying on a bed
before me--pale, emaciated, and, as it seemed, dying--the man whose story
I had just heard.

He was lying with closed eyes when we came into the room, and I had
leisure to examine his features. What a tale of misery they told! They
were regular and symmetrical in their arrangement, and not without
beauty--the beauty of exceeding refinement