slanting over flower-bed and lawn, and pattered heavily
against the glass; and the two Armadales stood by the window, as the two
Shadows had stood in the Second Vision of the Dream, with the wreck of
the image between them.

Allan stooped over the fragments of the little figure, and lifted them
one by one from the floor.

"Leave me," he said, without looking up, "or we shall both repent it."

Without a word, Midwinter moved back slowly. He stood for the second
time with his hand on the door, and looked his last at the room. The
horror of the night on the Wreck had got him once more, and the flame of
his passion was quenched in an instant.

"The Dream!" he whispered, under his breath. "The Dream again!"

The door was tried from the outside, and a servant appeared with a
trivial message about the breakfast.

Midwinter looked at the man with a blank, dreadful helplessness in his
face. "Show me the way out," he said. "The place is dark, and the room
turns round with me."

The servant took him by the arm, and silently led him out.

As the door closed on them, Allan picked up the last fragment of the
broken figure. He sat down alone at the table, and hid his face in
his hands. The self-control which he had bravely preserved under
exasperation renewed again and again now failed him at last in the
friendless solitude of his room, and, in the first bitterness of feeling
that Midwinter had turned against him like the rest, he burst into
tears.

The moments followed each other, the slow time wore on. Little by little
the signs of a new elemental disturbance began to show themselves in the
summer storm. The shadow of a swiftly deepening darkness swept over the
sky. The pattering of the rain lessened with the lessening wind. There
was a momentary hush of stillness. Then on a sudden the rain poured down
again like a cataract, and the low roll of thunder came up solemnly on
the dying air.

IX. SHE KNOWS THE TRUTH.

1. _From Mr. Bashwood to Miss Gwilt_.

"Thorpe Ambrose, July 20th, 1851.

"DEAR MADAM--I received yesterday, by private messenger, your obliging
note, in which you direct me to communicate with you through the post
only, as long as there is reason to believe that any visitors who may
come to you are likely to be observed. May I be permitted to say that
I look forward with respectful anxiety to the time when I shall again
enjoy the only real happiness I have ever experienced--the happiness of
personall