second inquiry. The brilliant young officer, who
had just passed his eighteenth birthday, knew what it was even better
than an older person to pass a whole night on difficult duty, without
a wink of sleep, for he had been accustomed to spend a portion of every
night in planking the deck on his watch; but at Bonnydale, his quiet
home, far removed from the scenes of actual conflict, he was an
industrious sleeper, giving his whole attention to his slumbers, as a
proper preparation for the stirring scenes in which he was again about
to engage.

He slept soundly; but he had dreamed that some one opened the door of
his room, or some one had actually done so. He was not a believer in
dreams, and when an impression had fastened itself upon his mind, he was
inclined to investigate it. It seemed to him that he had been awakened
from his sleep by the opening of the door of his chamber. Some member of
the family might be sick, and he might be needed to go for the doctor,
or for some other service.

He leaped from his bed when no answer came to his second demand, lighted
his lamp, and put on his trousers. With the light in his hand, he opened
the door; but there was no one there, and not a sound of any kind could
be heard. He walked about the hall in his bare feet, and listened
attentively at the doors of several of the chambers, especially at that
of Mr. Pembroke, the invalid gentleman whom, with his daughter, he had
brought home as a passenger in the captured Vixen.

Christy heard nothing, and he silently descended the stairs to the lower
hall. All was as quiet there as upon the floor above, and he had begun
to think that the impression he had received had been given him in a
dream, though he could not remember that he had been dreaming. But when
he came to the front door, he found it was ajar. It was usually secured
by a spring lock, and those who were liable to be out in the evening
were provided with night-keys.

At the present time his father was in Washington, and he could not have
neglected to close the door. He had been to the railroad station to meet
the last train, thinking it possible that his father might return, and
he was confident that he had been the last to enter the house. He was
very sure that he had not left the door unfastened, and this assurance
made him confident that some person had entered the house. The noise at
the door of his chamber was not an illusion or a dream: though it had
been made by closing