Anne Hereford: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

But I noticed one thing: that he did not deny the existence of a second door. In spite of his plausible reasoning, I could not divest myself of the conviction that he had not left his chamber by the entrance near mine.

"Is it a nightly occurrence, sir?"

"What—my walking about? Oh dear, no! Months and years sometimes elapse, and I have nothing of it. The last time I 'walked'—is not that an ominous word for the superstitious?—must be at least two years ago."

"And then only for one night, sir?"

"For more than one," he replied, a strangely-grave expression settling on his countenance. "So, if you see me again, Miss Hereford, do not be alarmed, or think I have taken sudden leave of my senses."

"Mr. Chandos, can nothing be done for you? To prevent it, I mean."

"Nothing at all."

"If—if Lady Chandos, or one of the men-servants were to lock you in the room at night?" I timidly suggested.

"And if I—finding egress stopped that way—were to precipitate myself from the window, in my unconsciousness, what then, Miss Hereford?"

"Oh, don't talk of it!" I said, hiding my eyes with a shudder. "I do not understand these things: I spoke in ignorance."