With a mighty effort I rose from my chair, and waving back, with an imperious gesture, Iho < spectres of the past, I went to the ! larder, brought out the bread and cheese and a dish of spring onions, and j sat down to my solitary meal. j At that moment my attention was i arrested by the sound of a footstep on j the gravel path. It was the footstep. of a man. I rose, opened the door, and, holding the candle high above me to shield it , from the wind, I exclaimed, ' Qui va \ idX It was an old watchword of mine, familiar on my lips in happier clays ■> amid Crimean snrws and the rocky [ passes of far off Afghanistan. The j words came back that night like the j long forgotten echo of a childish dream. ' I knew not why I said them. The j past had haunted me. I was living, j speaking in the past. 'Qui va Id ?' Again I challenged the footstep, tjnd waited for the footstep to reply. At that moment a heavy gust of wind swept, up the valley,, and ere I could save it the light was extinguished. ' Qui va Id X The storni by this time had gathered fury ; there was a vivid flash of lightn ing, followed by a loud clap of thunder. In that sudden and natural' illumina tion I could see the surrounding country distinctly. At my "gate," drenched to the skin was a horse. > At my door, within arm's length of me, lay a policeman, with a sword by his side and spurs on his boots. He had not replied to my challenge. Why 1 Because he lay there at my feet, insensible, incapable of speech. He had swooned ! Gently X lifted him from thp ground; and carried him indoors. The lurid glare of the dying embers fell full upon his face and form. I- started in- astonishment ! The man was the living image of myself. We could have passed for twin brothesr. As I gazpd at him with staring eyes for a' moment, I fancied that I had suddenly risen from ■ a. dream, and was looking at myself in. a glass. But I. hadn't a helmet on, and a uniform and a sworcj. It was no hallucination. 