ther had insisted upon an explanation. When
the boy--our boy Roland, who had never known what fear was--began to talk
to her of voices he had heard in the park, and shadows that had appeared
to him among the ruins, my wife promptly put him to bed and sent for Dr.
Simson, which, of course, was the only thing to do.

I hurried off that evening, as may be supposed, with an anxious heart.
How I got through the hours before the starting of the train, I cannot
tell. We must all be thankful for the quickness of the railway when in
anxiety; but to have thrown myself into a post-chaise as soon as horses
could be put to, would have been a relief. I got to Edinburgh very early
in the blackness of the winter morning, and scarcely dared look the man
in the face, at whom I gasped, "What news?" My wife had sent the
brougham for me, which I concluded, before the man spoke, was a bad sign.
His answer was that stereotyped answer which leaves the imagination so
wildly free,--"Just the same." Just the same! What might that mean? The
horses seemed to me to creep along the long dark country road. As we
dashed through the park, I thought I heard some one moaning among the
trees, and clenched my fist at him (whoever he might be) with fury. Why
had the fool of a woman at the gate allowed any one to come in to disturb
the quiet of the place? If I had not been in such hot haste to get home,
I think I should have stopped the carriage and got out to see what tramp
it was that had made an entrance, and chosen my grounds, of all places in
the world,--when my boy was ill!--to grumble and groan in. But I had no
reason to complain of our slow pace here. The horses flew like lightning
along the intervening path, and drew up at the door all panting, as if
they had run a race. My wife stood waiting to receive me, with a pale
face, and a candle in her hand, which made her look paler still as the
wind blew the flame about. "He is sleeping," she said in a whisper, as if
her voice might wake him. And I replied, when I could find my voice, also
in a whisper, as though the jingling of the horses' furniture and the
sound of their hoofs must not have been more dangerous. I stood on the
steps with her a moment, almost afraid to go in, now that I was here; and
it seemed to me that I saw without observing, if I may say so, that the
horses were unwilling to turn round, though their stables lay that way,
or that the men were unwilling. These things occurred to me afterwa