dish garb were gone; he was awake and
in his senses, but, in this first flash of real consciousness, he could
have sworn that something remained! Something terror-stricken, and
retreating even then before him,--something of the world, modern,--and,
even as he gazed, vanishing through the gallery door with the material
flash and rustle of silk.

He walked quietly to the door. It was open. Ah! No doubt he had
forgotten to shut it fast; a current of air or a sudden draught had
opened it. That noise had awakened him. More than that, remembering the
lightning flash of dream consciousness, it had been the CAUSE of his
dream. Yet, for a few moments he listened attentively.

What might have been the dull reverberation of a closing door in the
direction of the housekeeper's room, on the lower story, was all he
heard. He smiled, for even that, natural as it might be, was less
distinct and real than his absurd vision.

Nevertheless the next afternoon he concluded to walk over to Audley
Friars for his Christmas dinner. Its hospitable master greeted him
cordially.

"But do you know, my dear fellow," he said, when they were alone for
a moment, "if you hadn't come by yourself I'd have sent over there for
you. The fact is that A--- wrote to us that you were down at Stukeley
alone, ghost-hunting or something of that sort, and I'm afraid it leaked
out among the young people of our party. Two of our girls--I shan't tell
you which--stole over there last night to give you a start of some kind.
They didn't see you at all, but, by Jove, it seems they got the biggest
kind of a fright THEMSELVES, for they declare that something dreadful in
armor, you know, was sitting in the gallery. Awfully good joke, wasn't
it? Of course YOU didn't see anything,--did you?"

"No," said the Barbarian, discreetly.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Colonel Starbottle's Client and Other
Stories, by Bret Harte

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