The night wind burst in, eddying, and puffed out the lamp with a breath.  In an instant the room was filled with coolness and perfumes and the rushing sound of the river.  Out of the darkness came Ev’leen Ann’s young voice.  “It seems to me,” she said, as though speaking to herself, “that I never heard the Mill Brook sound loud as it has this spring.”

I woke up that night with the start one has at a sudden call.  But there had been no call.  A profound silence spread itself through the sleeping house.  Outdoors the wind had died down.  Only the loud brawl of the river broke the stillness under the stars.  But all through the silence and this vibrant song there rang a soundless menace which brought me out of bed and to my feet before I was awake.  I heard Paul say, “What’s the matter?” in a sleepy voice, and “Nothing,” I answered, reaching for my dressing-gown and slippers.  I listened for a moment, my head ringing with all the frightening tales of the morbid vein of violence which runs through the character of our reticent people.  There was still no sound.  I went along the hall and up the stairs to Ev’leen Ann room, and I opened the door without knocking.  The room was empty.

Then how I ran!  Calling loudly for Paul to join me, I ran down the two flights of stairs, out of the open door and along the hedged path which leads down to the little river.  The starlight was clear.  I could see everything as plainly as though in early dawn.  I saw the river, and saw—­Ev’leen Ann!

There was a dreadful moment of horror, which I shall never remember very clearly, and then Ev’leen Ann and I—­both very wet—­stood on the bank, shuddering in each other’s arms.

Into our hysteria there dropped, like a pungent caustic the arid voice of Horace, remarking, “Well, are you two people crazy, or are you walking in your sleep?” I could feel Ev’leen Ann stiffen in my arms, and I nearly stepped back from her in astonished admiration as I heard her snatch at the straw thus offered, and still shuddering horribly from head to foot, force herself to say quite connectedly:  “Why—­yes—­of course—­I’ve always heard about my grandfather Parkman’s walking in his sleep.  Folks said ’twould come out in the family some time.”

Paul was close behind Horace—­I wondered a little at his not being first—­and with many astonished and inane ejaculations, such as people always make on startling occasions, we made our way back into the house to hot blankets and toddies.  But I slept no more that night.  Some time after dawn, however, I did fall into a troubled unconsciousness full of bad dreams, and only awoke when the sun was quite high.  I opened my eyes to see Ev’leen Ann about to close the door.  “Oh, did I wake you up?” she said.  “I didn’t mean to.  That little Harris boy is here with a letter for you.”