I had scarcely dozed off, I think, before the sound of his violin awoke me.
I found he had risen from his bed, had taken his favourite instrument, and was playing in his sleep.

The air was the _Gagliarda_ of the "Areopagita" suite, which I had not heard since we had played it last together at Oxford, and it brought back with it a crowd of far-off memories and infinite regrets.

I cursed the sleepiness which had overcome me at my watchman's post, and allowed Sir John to play once more that melody which had always been fraught with such evil for him; and I was about to wake him gently when he was startled from sleep by a strange accident.

As I walked towards him the violin seemed entirely to collapse in his hands, and, as a matter of fact, the belly then gave way and broke under the strain of the strings.

As the strings slackened, the last note became an unearthly discord.