At first I thought she was walking in her sleep, and perhaps rehearsing again in her dreams the troubles which dogged her waking footsteps.

I took her gently by the arm, saying, "Dearest Constance, come back at once to bed; you will take cold." She was not asleep, however, but made a motion of silence, and said in a terrified whisper, "Hush; do you hear nothing ?" There was something so vague and yet so mysterious in the question and in her evident perturbation that I was infected too by her alarm.

I felt myself shiver, as I strained my ear to catch if possible the slightest sound.

But a complete silence pervaded everything: I could hear nothing.
"Can you hear it ?" she said again.

All sorts of images of ill presented themselves to my imagination: I thought the baby must be ill with croup, and that she was listening for some stertorous breath of anguish; and then the dread came over me that perhaps her sorrows had been too much for her, and that reason had left her seat.