James Cromwell recoiled at the last word, and he said, hastily, for he feared a return of the supposed spirit:
"My friend, if you'll come in here and stop till I've gone to sleep, I'll pay you for your trouble. I'm afraid of having the night-mare again."
"Can't do it; I haven't got the time. Besides, what's the use? You won't have the night-mare when you're awake."
He shut the door, and James Cromwell lay for a long time in a state of nervous terror, trying to go to sleep, but unable to do so. At last, from sheer fatigue, he fell into a troubled slumber, which was disturbed by terrifying dreams.
He woke, at an early hour unrefreshed, and going below ordered a breakfast which he did not relish.
Thence he went to the depot and took the early morning train bound eastward. He was already speeding on his way rapidly before Robert Raymond arose. The door of No. 41 was open, and he looked in. But the occupant had disappeared. Going to the office he saw the name of James Cromwell on the books of the hotel, and learned from the clerk that he had already gone.
"He's a queer chap," said the clerk; "he had a terrible night-mare last night, and shrieked loud enough to take the roof off. You must have heard him, as your room adjoined his!"
"Yes, I heard him," said Robert, but he said no more.