A Book of Ghosts. Baring-Gould Sabine

up to her aunt and kissed her.

      "I am so sorry that I overslept myself," she said. "I was like one of the Seven Sleepers."

      "My dear, I should not have minded if you had not come down till midday. After a first ball you must be tired."

      "I meant—last night."

      "How, last night?"

      "I mean when I went to dress."

      "Oh, you were punctual enough. When I was ready you were already in the hall."

      The bewilderment of the girl grew apace.

      "I am sure," said her aunt, "you enjoyed yourself. But you gave the lion's share of the dances to Captain Fontanel. If this had been at Exeter, it would have caused talk; but here you are known only to a few; however, Lady Belgrove observed it."

      "I hope you are not very tired, auntie darling," said Betty, to change slightly the theme that perplexed her.

      "Nothing to speak of. I like to go to a ball; it recalls my old dancing days. But I thought you looked white and fagged all the evening. Perhaps it was excitement."

      As soon as breakfast was concluded, Betty escaped to her room. A fear was oppressing her. The only explanation of the mystery was that she had been to the dance in her sleep. She was a somnambulist. What had she said and done when unconscious? What a dreadful thing it would have been had she woke up in the middle of a dance! She must have dressed herself, gone to Lady Belgrove's, danced all night, returned, taken off her dress, put on her afternoon tea-gown, lain down and concluded her sleep—all in one long tract of unconsciousness.

      "By the way," said her aunt next day, "I have taken tickets for Carmen, at Her Majesty's. You would like to go?"

      "Oh, delighted, aunt. I know some of the music—of course, the Toreador song; but I have never heard the whole opera. It will be delightful."

      "And you are not too tired to go?"

      "No—ten thousand times, no—I shall love to see it."

      "What dress will you go in?"

      "I think my black, and put a rose in my hair."

      "That will do very well. The black becomes you. I think you could not do better."

      Betty was highly delighted. She had been to plays, never to a real opera.

      In the evening, dinner was early, unnecessarily early, and Betty knew that it would not take her long to dress, so she went into the little conservatory and seated herself there. The scent of the heliotropes was strong. Betty called them cherry-pie. She had got the libretto, and she looked it over; but as she looked, her eyes closed, and without being aware that she was going to sleep, in a moment she was completely unconscious.

      She woke, feeling stiff and cold.

      "Goodness!" said she, "I hope I am not late. Why—what is that light?"

      The glimmer of dawn shone in at the conservatory windows.

      Much astonished, she left it. The hall, the staircase were dark. She groped her way to her room, and switched on the electric light.

      Before her lay her black-and-white muslin dress on the bed; on the table were her white twelve-button gloves folded about her fan. She took them up, and below them, somewhat crumpled, lay the play-bill, scented.

      "How very unaccountable this is," she said; and removing the dress, seated herself on the bed and thought.

      "Why did they turn out the lights?" she asked herself, then sprang to her feet, switched off the electric current, and saw that actually the morning light was entering the room. She resumed her seat; put her hands to her brow.

      "It cannot—it cannot be that this dreadful thing has happened again."

      Presently she heard the servants stirring. She hastily undressed and retired between the sheets, but not to sleep. Her mind worked. She was seriously alarmed.

      At the usual time Martha arrived with tea.

      "Awake, Miss Betty!" she said. "I hope you had a nice evening. I dare say it was beautiful."

      "But," began the girl, then checked herself, and said—

      "Is my aunt getting up? Is she very tired?"

      "Oh, miss, my lady is a wonderful person; she never seems to tire. She is always down at the same time."

      Betty dressed, but her mind was in a turmoil. On one thing she was resolved. She must see a doctor. But she would not frighten her aunt, she would keep the matter close from her.

      When she came into the breakfast-room, Lady Lacy said—

      "I thought Maas's voice was superb, but I did not so much care for the Carmen. What did you think, dear?"

      "Aunt," said Betty, anxious to change the topic, "would you mind my seeing a doctor? I don't think I am quite well."

      "Not well! Why what is the matter with you?"

      "I have such dead fits of drowsiness."

      "My dearest, is that to be wondered at with this racketing about; balls and theatres—very other than the quiet life at home? But I will admit that you struck me as looking very pale last night. You shall certainly see Dr. Groves."

      When the medical man arrived, Betty intimated that she wished to speak with him alone, and he was shown with her into the morning-room.

      "Oh, Dr. Groves," she said nervously, "it is such a strange thing I have to say. I believe I walk in my sleep."

      "You have eaten something that disagreed with you."

      "But it lasted so long."

      "How do you mean? Have you long been subject to it?"

      "Dear, no. I never had any signs of it before I came to London this season."

      "And how were you roused? How did you become aware of it?"

      "I was not roused at all; the fact is I went asleep to Lady Belgrove's ball, and danced there and came back, and woke up in the morning without knowing I had been."

      "What!"

      "And then, last night, I went in my sleep to Her Majesty's and heard Carmen; but I woke up in the conservatory here at early dawn, and I remember nothing about it."

      "This is a very extraordinary story. Are you sure you went to the ball and to the opera?"

      "Quite sure. My dress had been used on both occasions, and my shoes and fan and gloves as well."

      "Did you go with Lady Lacy?"

      "Oh, yes. I was with her all the time. But I remember nothing about it."

      "I must speak to her ladyship."

      "Please, please do not. It would frighten her; and I do not wish her to suspect anything, except that I am a little out of sorts. She gets nervous about me."

      Dr. Groves mused for some while, then he said: "I cannot see that this is at all a case of somnambulism."

      "What is it, then?"

      "Lapse of memory. Have you ever suffered from that previously?"

      "Nothing to speak of. Of course I do not always remember everything. I do not always recollect commissions given to me, unless I write them down. And I cannot say that I remember all the novels I have read, or what was the menu at dinner yesterday."

      "That is quite a different matter. What I refer to is spaces of blank in your memory. How often has this occurred?"

      "Twice."

      "And quite recently?"

      "Yes, I never knew anything of the kind before."

      "I think that the sooner you return to the country the better. It is possible that the strain of coming out and the change of entering into gay life in town has been too much for you. Take care and economise