return from a short trip out of town. Reginald read it, looking at the boy with a curious, lurking expression.

O gentle Sleep, turn not thy face away,

But place thy finger on my brow, and take

All burthens from me and all dreams that ache;

Upon mine eyes a cooling balsam lay,

Seeing I am aweary of the day.

But, lo! thy lips are ashen and they quake.

What spectral vision sees thou that can shake

Thy sweet composure, and thy heart dismay?

Perhaps some murderer’s cruel eye agleam

Is fixed upon me, or some monstrous dream