this man before you wake him up. I'm a doctor; and if this queer
sleeping and dreaming of his comes from anything wrong in his
brain, I may be able to tell you what to do with him."

"I rather think you will find his complaint past all doctoring,
sir," said the landlord; "but, if you would like to see him,
you're welcome, I'm sure."

He led the way across a yard and down a passage to the stables,
opened one of the doors, and, waiting outside himself, told me to
look in.

I found myself in a two-stall stable. In one of the stalls a
horse was munching his corn; in the other an old man was lying
asleep on the litter.

I stooped and looked at him attentively. It was a withered,
woe-begone face. The eyebrows were painfully contracted; the
mouth was fast set, and drawn down at the corners.

The hollow wrinkled cheeks, and the scanty grizzled hair, told
their own tale of some past sorrow or suffering. He was drawing
his breath convulsively when I first looked at him, and in a
moment more he began to talk in his sleep.

"Wake up!" I heard him say, in a quick whisper, through his
clinched teeth. "Wake up there! Murder!"

He moved one lean arm slowly till it rested over his throat,
shuddered a little, and turned on his straw. Then the arm left