a vague feeling of familiarity.  It was a leathern filler.  With horrible energy he thrust it—­but I could stand no more.  My hair stood on end with horror.  I writhed, I struggled, I broke through the bonds of sleep, and I burst with a shriek into my own life, and found myself lying shivering with terror in the huge library, with the moonlight flooding through the window and throwing strange silver and black traceries upon the opposite wall.  Oh, what a blessed relief to feel that I was back in the nineteenth century—­back out of that mediaeval vault into a world where men had human hearts within their bosoms.  I sat up on my couch, trembling in every limb, my mind divided between thankfulness and horror.  To think that such things were ever done—­that they could be done without God striking the villains dead.  Was it all a fantasy, or did it really stand for something which had happened in the black, cruel days of the world’s history?  I sank my throbbing head upon my shaking hands.  And then, suddenly, my heart seemed to stand still in my bosom, and I could not even scream, so great was my terror.  Something was advancing toward me through the darkness of the room.

It is a horror coming upon a horror which breaks a man’s spirit.  I could not reason, I could not pray; I could only sit like a frozen image, and glare at the dark figure which was coming down the great room.  And then it moved out into the white lane of moonlight, and I breathed once more.  It was Dacre, and his face showed that he was as frightened as myself.

“Was that you?  For God’s sake what’s the matter?” he asked in a husky voice.

“Oh, Dacre, I am glad to see you!  I have been down into hell.  It was dreadful.”

“Then it was you who screamed?”

“I dare say it was.”

“It rang through the house.  The servants are all terrified.”  He struck a match and lit the lamp.  “I think we may get the fire to burn up again,” he added, throwing some logs upon the embers.  “Good God, my dear chap, how white you are!  You look as if you had seen a ghost.”

“So I have—­several ghosts.”

“The leather funnel has acted, then?”

“I wouldn’t sleep near the infernal thing again for all the money you could offer me.”

Dacre chuckled.

“I expected that you would have a lively night of it,” said he.  “You took it out of me in return, for that scream of yours wasn’t a very pleasant sound at two in the morning.  I suppose from what you say that you have seen the whole dreadful business.”

“What dreadful business?”

“The torture of the water—­the `Extraordinary Question,’ as it was called in the genial days of `Le Roi Soleil.’  Did you stand it out to the end?”

“No, thank God, I awoke before it really began.”

“Ah! it is just as well for you.  I held out till the third bucket.  Well, it is an old story, and they are all in their graves now, anyhow, so what does it matter how they got there?  I suppose that you have no idea what it was that you have seen?”