at Basle; and Wilding (not dead, as he had supposed, and yet he did
not wonder much) shook him, and whispered, "Look at that man! Don't you
see he has risen, and is turning the pillow? Why should he turn the
pillow, if not to seek those papers that are in your breast? Awake!" And
yet he slept, and wandered off into other dreams.

Watchful and still, with his elbow on the table, and his head upon that
hand, his companion at length said: "Vendale! We are called. Past
Four!" Then, opening his eyes, he saw, turned sideways on him, the filmy
face of Obenreizer.

"You have been in a heavy sleep," he said. "The fatigue of constant
travelling and the cold!"

"I am broad awake now," cried Vendale, springing up, but with an unsteady
footing. "Haven't you slept at all?"

"I may have dozed, but I seem to have been patiently looking at the fire.
Whether or no, we must wash, and breakfast, and turn out. Past four,
Vendale; past four!"

It was said in a tone to rouse him, for already he was half asleep again.
In his preparation for the day, too, and at his breakfast, he was often
virtually asleep while in mechanical action. It was not until the cold
dark day was closing in, that he had any distincter impressions of the
ride than jingling bells, bitter weather, slipping horses, frowning hill-
sides, bleak woods, and a stoppage at some wayside house of
entertainment, where they had passed through a cow-house to reach the
travellers' room above. He had been conscious of little more, except of
Obenreizer sitting thoughtful at his side all day, and eyeing him much.

But when he shook off his stupor, Obenreizer was not at his side. The
carriage was stopping to bait at another wayside house; and a line of
long narrow carts, laden with casks of wine, and drawn by horses with a
quantity of blue collar and head-gear, were baiting too. These came from
the direction in which the travellers were going, and Obenreizer (not
thoughtful now, but cheerful and alert) was talking with the foremost
driver. As Vendale stretched his limbs, circulated his blood, and
cleared off the lees of his lethargy, with a sharp run to and fro in the
bracing air, the line of carts moved on: the drivers all saluting
Obenreizer as they passed him.

"Who are those?" asked Vendale.

"They are our carriers--Defresnier and Company's," replied Obenreizer.
"Those are our casks of wine." He was singing to himself, and lighting a
cigar.

"I have been dre