CHAPTER III.
The night was frosty, calm, and clear, and quite light, for the March moon was just about to rise from the eastern sea.
When the carriage set him down at his own door the curate had no mind to go in.

He waited till the sound of the horse's feet had died away, and then he walked back down the empty street.

The town was asleep; his footsteps echoed sharply from roofs and walls.
He was not given to morbid fancies or hallucinations, and he was extremely annoyed at what had taken place.

Twice in the last eight days he had been the subject of a waking dream, and now he was confronted with what seemed an odd counterpart of his vision in actual fact.

It was no doubt a mere coincidence, but it was a very disagreeable one.