hs--the old hall at Elmsley vibrated with the
notes which, with the impetuosity that characterised
everything I did at that time, I threw out with the full
consciousness of power. Often of an evening I sat down at the
organ that was placed in the gallery of the hall, and, forming
various modulations on its deep melodious keys, soothed myself
into a kind of dreamy unconsciousness.

One day I had gone there as usual; it was towards dusk, and I
was just come home from a long ride on a cold December day. I
began playing, but, gradually overcome by drowsiness, I fell
asleep, my hand still on the keys of the organ, and my head
resting against the edge of the high-backed chair I was
sitting on. Whether it was the uneasiness of this posture, or
my damp uncurled hair that was hanging on my face, or else
that in sleep we discern, though it awaken us not, when
something is moving near us, I know not, but my sleep was
painful in the extreme. I felt as if there was a hard
breathing close to me; but, turn which way I would in my
dream, I could see nothing. Then I felt as if some one was
laying hold of me, and I tried to scream, but could not. Then
I seemed suddenly to stand on the steps of the fatal stairs,
(I had often since the day of Julia's death dreamt the fearful
scene over, and the impression which the dreadful reality had
left on my mind was such that I had never since ventured to
stand on that spot,) but now it was not of Julia that I
dreamed. I was being dragged down myself to the bottom of the
precipice, and the person who was forcing me along into the
yawning gulf wore the form of Henry Lovell, and spoke with his
voice. I called to him to stop--I entreated him with frantic
violence to forbear, but just as we were reaching the hollow
he suddenly turned round, and there was Edward Middleton's
face looking ghastly pale, and frowning upon me fearfully. I
fell back, and the movement I must have made at that moment
probably awoke me. I roused myself with that uneasy feeling
which a terrific dream leaves on one's mind, and timidly
looked about me. I was alone; there was the music-book before
me, and the two candles burning as I had left them, but by the
side of one of them was a coarse bit of paper, and on it was
written (oh my God! how fervently I prayed at that moment that
I might yet wake, and find I was still dreaming)--on it was
written in large round letters "BEWARE! I KNOW YOUR SECRET!"

There have been so many drea