Bunning's face brought him to the sudden necessity of treating the nightmare as reality, for the moment at any rate.

The staring spectacles piteously appealed to him-- "I can't stand it--I can't stand it." "Hush!" Olva held his hand, and out of the fog, below in the Court, a voice was calling--"Craven! Craven! Buck up, you old ass!" "They're going to light bonfires and things," Bunning quavered, and then, with a hand that had always before seemed soft and flabby but that was now hard and burning, he caught Olva's wrist.

"I had to see you--I've been three days now--waiting--all the time for them to come and arrest you.

Oh! I've imagined everything--everything--and the fog makes it worse.

.