If I were to do so, you would think me the victim of some hideous fancy.

It is enough that this is so, and that I cannot--no, I can not--lie quietly in my bed, without doing what will seem to you incomprehensible.' 'Since when, sir,' said the locksmith after a pause, 'has this uneasy feeling been upon you ?' Mr Haredale hesitated for some moments, and then replied: 'Since the night of the storm.

In short, since the last nineteenth of March.' As though he feared that Varden might express surprise, or reason with him, he hastily went on: 'You will think, I know, I labour under some delusion.

Perhaps I do.

But it is not a morbid one; it is a wholesome action of the mind, reasoning on actual occurrences.