friend
was in, turned pale and said: "I suppose you do not know what has
happened, sir--Mr. A---- died yesterday at Brighton. I think that Mr.
B----" (naming the owner of the house, who lets lodgings) "can tell you
all about it--will you go upstairs? I will tell him you are here."

I went up: the sun was streaming into the room, with its well-known
furniture and pictures, shabby and yet somehow home-like. There was the
familiar table, with all its litter. I was stunned with the news,
unable to realise it; and the sight of the table, with all the
customary details in the old disorder, fairly unmanned me; so it was
all over and done with, and my friend was gone without a word or sign.

I heard rapid steps along the passage; Mr. B----, the owner of the
house, entered with an apologetic smile. "I am afraid that there has
been a mistake, sir," he said. "Mr. A---- is not dead, as the servant
informed you; it is the gentleman who lives on the floor above, who has
been an invalid for some time, who is dead; the servant is new to the
place, and has made a confusion; we only had a wire a few minutes ago.
Mr. A---- is perfectly well, and will be in in a few minutes if you
will wait"

I waited, in a strange revulsion of spirit; but the most singular thing
is that the crowded table, which had been a few minutes before the most
pathetic thing in the world, had become by the time that A---- entered
smiling, as irritating and annoying as ever; changed from the poor
table where his earthly litter had accumulated, which he could touch no
more for ever, into the table which he ought to have put straight long
ago and should be ashamed of leaving in so vile a condition.

XVIII

I have had a night of strange and terror-haunted dreams. Yesterday I
was forced to work at full speed, feverishly and furiously for a great
many hours, at a piece of work that admitted of no delay. By the
evening I was considerably exhausted, yet the work was not done. I
slept for an hour, and then settled down again and worked very late in
the night, until it was finished. Such a strain cannot be borne with
impunity, and I never do such a thing except under pressure of absolute
necessity. I suppose that I contrived to inflame some delicate tissue
of the brain, as the result was a series of intensely vivid dreams,
with a strange quality of horror about them. It was not so much that
the incidents themselves were of a dreadful type, but I was
overshadowed