"Micah," called Justin, "what is the matter with you? Come back to bed."
"He's in his bare feet," cried Mrs. Prymmer, tearfully, leaning over the banisters. "Go down to him, Justin. He'll catch his death of cold."
As his relative showed no signs of abating his extraordinary gymnastic performances, Justin was obliged to go down, and the feminine portion of the family hurriedly retreated behind doors as the distracted man was led up-stairs.
Justin found him trembling violently and dripping with perspiration. "What has got into you, Micah?" he said.
"Nightmare, boy, nightmare," replied Captain White, sinking in a heap on his bed. "Haven't had such a thing since I was a boy, and used to dream every night that the devil had got me."
"Was he after you to-night?"
"No, boy, no," and Captain White laid his exhausted head on the pillow. "It was a nameless horror. I don't know what it was. Don't leave me for awhile."
Justin had never before seen his composed relative in so disordered a state, and in quiet sympathy he sat down beside him.
Captain White was silent for a long time, then he started up in bed and shook his fist at some invisible enemy. "I'm blest if I let this happen again."
"What did you say, Micah?" inquired Justin.