draped, looked inviting in its corner. A
lamp stood on a small table littered with books and papers; an array of
pipes and cigar-holders were strewn carelessly on the marble
mantelpiece. A sense of brightness and commonplace comfort permeated
the atmosphere, and were sensibly soothing after the chill of the cool
December night.

He took a cigar from his case and lit it, and threw himself back and
smoked at his ease.

As he did so, he heard a clock in the distance strike the quarter after
midnight; mechanically he counted the strokes. "She will wake now," he
said, half aloud. The sound of his voice startled himself in the
stillness of the room. As its echoes died away he glanced nervously
round. Then his face paled to the hues of death, his eyes dilated.
Midway in the room a veiled misty figure seemed to float--transparent
and yet distinct--and he saw its arm stretched out towards himself with
a sudden impressive gesture.

He tossed the cigar into the grate, then bent his head as if in
submission.

"Is it the summons--at last?" he said, faintly.

If answer there was, it was audible only to himself. To anyone looking
on, it only seemed as if a sudden dreamy lassitude had overtaken him;
his head sank back against the chair, his eyes closed, his face grew
calm and peaceful, and, like a tired child, he fell asleep.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE DREAM.

As Julian Estcourt's eyes closed, it seemed to him that with a sudden
sharp spasm of pain he tore himself away from that sleeping sentient
portion of humanity which was his representation, and then, without
effort or consciousness of his own, he seemed floating swiftly along
over a dark and misty space. A great sea tossed and moaned beneath him.
He felt that someone was beside him, but he had no desire to question
its personality. Now and then lights flashed through the dusky shadows
which enveloped him, and as they flashed he saw vivid pictures of plains
and cities and mountains.

Over one such city, bathed in the clear lucid flame of the full moon, he
seemed to pause. He saw bridges, piles of buildings, dark flowing
canals, a strange medley of streets, some broad and beautiful, others
dark, narrow and pestilential, reeking with the fumes of dram-shops.

There was snow on the ground, sleighs were gliding swiftly to and fro.
People spoke but seldom; an air of restraint, of fear, of rebellion
impressed him, as the furtive glances and brief whispers became pr