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The doctor half-satisfied the squire that there was nothing in these dreams, which, in one shape or another, invariably attended forms of indigestion such as he was suffering from.

For a while, as if to corroborate this theory, the dog ceased altogether to figure in them. But at last there came a vision in which, more unpleasantly than before, he did resume his old place.

In his nightmare the room seemed all but dark; he heard what he knew to be the dog walking from the door round his bed slowly, to the side from which he always had come upon it. A portion of the room was uncarpeted, and he said he distinctly heard the peculiar tread of a dog, in which the faint clatter of the claws is audible. It was a light stealthy step, but at every tread the whole room shook heavily; he felt something place itself at the foot of his bed, and saw a pair of green eyes staring at him in the dark, from which he could not remove his own. Then he heard, as he thought, the old Squire Toby say  "The eleventh hour be passed, Charlie, and ye’ve done nothing  you and ‘a done Scroope a wrong!" and then came a good deal more, and then  "The time’s nigh up, it’s going to strike. " And with a long low growl, the thing began to creep up upon his feet; the growl continued, and he saw the reflection of the upturned green eyes upon the bed clothes, as it began slowly to stretch itself up his body towards his face.

With a loud scream, he waked. The light, which of late the squire was accustomed to have in his bed room, had accidentally gone out. He was afraid to get up, or even to look about the room for some time; so sure did he feel of seeing the green eyes in the dark fixed on him from some corner. He had hardly recovered from the first agony which nightmare leaves behind it, and was beginning to collect his thoughts, when he heard the clock strike twelve. And he bethought him of the words "the eleventh hour be passed  time’s nigh up  it’s going to strike!" and he almost feared that he would hear the voice reopening the subject.

Next morning the squire came down looking ill.

"Do you know a room, old Cooper," said he, "they used to call King Herod’s chamber?"

"Aye, sir; the story of King Herod was on the walls o’t when I was a boy. "

"There’s a closet off it  is there?"

"I can’t be sure o’ that; but ’tisn’t worth your looking at, now; the hangings was rotten, and took off the walls, before you was born; and there’s nou’t there but some old broken things and lumber. I seed them put there myself by poor Twinks; he was blind of an eye, and footman afterwards. You’ll remember Twinks? He died here, about the time o’ the great snow. There was a deal o’ work to bury him, poor fellow!"

"Get the key, old Cooper; I’ll look at the room," said the squire.

"And what the devil can you want to look at it for?" said Cooper, with the old-world privilege of a rustic butler.

"And what the devil’s that to you? But I don’t mind if I tell you. I don’t want that dog in the gun room, and I’ll put him somewhere else; and I don’t care if I put him there. "

"A bulldog in a bedroom! Oons, sir! the folks ‘ill say you’re clean mad!"

"Well, let them; get you the key and let us look at the room.”