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But, it beckoned him back in his sleep, and showed itself in

shining forms. Free and happy, back in the old house in Soho

(though it had nothing in it like the real house), unaccountably

released and light of heart, he was with Lucie again, and she

told him it was all a dream, and he had never gone away. A pause

of forgetfulness, and then he had even suffered, and had come

back to her, dead and at peace, and yet there was no difference

in him. Another pause of oblivion, and he awoke in the sombre

morning, unconscious where he was or what had happened, until it

flashed upon his mind, "this is the day of my death!"

Thus, had he come through the hours, to the day when the

fifty-two heads were to fall. And now, while he was composed, and

hoped that he could meet the end with quiet heroism, a new action

began in his waking thoughts, which was very difficult to master.