It struck Stafford as
strange that the dogs did not bark. In profound silence they went in
the direction the figure had taken, and Stafford presently saw a ruined
building, which had evidently been a chapel. As they approached it the
figure came out of it and towards them. As it passed them, so close
that they instinctively drew back, Stafford saw that it was an old man
in a dressing-gown; his head was bare, his hair touched the collar of
the gown. His eyes were wide open, and gazing straight in front of him.
Stafford was about to step forward and arrest his progress, when
suddenly the girl's hand seized his and gripped it.
"Hush!" she whispered, with subdued terror. "It is my father. He--yes,
he is asleep! Oh, see, he is asleep! He will fall--hurt himself--"
She, in her turn, was about to spring forward, but Stafford caught her
arm.
"No, no, you must not!" he said, in a hurried whisper. "I think it
would be dangerous. I think he is all right if you let him alone. He is
walking in his sleep. Don't speak--don't cry out."
"No, no," she breathed. "But it is dreadful."
Instinctively, unconsciously, she drew closer to Stafford, almost clung
to him, watching her father over her shoulder until the figure, with
its ghastly, mechanical movement and vacant stare, had passed into the
house; then, with a long breath, and with her hands clasping her
throat, as if she were stifling, she broke from Stafford and sprang
quickly and noiselessly up the steps and disappeared also.
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