And in all
the solemn crowd passing perpetually with the same unceasing motion,
there was no sound of human footfall, no tramp of horse's hoof, only that
dismal waving of black plumage in an icy wind, and the deep boom of a
bell tolling for the dead.
He awoke with a start, and exclaimed, "If this is what it is to sleep, I
will never sleep again!"
In the next minute he recovered himself. He had been lying on his back.
The endless pageant, the dreadful tolling of the funeral bell, meant no
more than nightmare, the common torment of all humanity.
"What a fool I must be!" he muttered to himself, as he wiped his
forehead, which had grown cold and damp in the agony of his dream.
He opened the shutters, and then looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.
To his surprise he found that he had been sleeping three hours. It was
nine o'clock. He went upstairs to dress. There was an unusual stir in the
corridor above. Ann Woolper was standing there, with her hand on the door
of the sick-room, talking to Diana, who covered her face suddenly as he
approached, and disappeared into her own room.
The beating of his heart quickened suddenly. Something had happened to
disturb the common course of events. Something? What was likely to
happen, except the one dread circumstance for which he hoped and waited
with such horrible eagerness?
In Ann Woolper's solemn face he read an answer to his thought.
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