Another thing I thought I perceived, but endeavored to assure
myself that it represented the aftermath of an unpleasant nightmare.
This was a lithe shape streaking through my open window--a figment of
the imagination, as I concluded at the time, the tail-end of a dream
visibly retreating in the moment of awakening.
So self-assured of this did I become, that I did not get up to
investigate the matter, nor was there any sound from the road below to
suggest that the figure had been otherwise than imaginary, yet I found
it difficult to woo slumber again, and for nearly an hour I lay
tossing from side to side, listening to the ticking of the
grandfather's clock and constantly seeing in my mind's eye that
deserted supper-room at the Red House.
And presently as I lay thus, I became aware of two things: first of
the howling of dogs, and, second, of a sort of muttered conversation
which seemed to be taking place somewhere near me. Listening intently,
I thought I could distinguish the voice of a man and that of a woman.
Possibly I was not the only wakeful inhabitant of the Abbey Inn was my
first and most natural idea; but it presently became apparent to me
that the speakers were not in the inn, but outside in the road.
Curiosity at last overcame inclination. Of the exact time I was not
aware, but I think dawn could not have been far off, and I naturally
wondered who these might be that conversed beneath my window at such
an hour.
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