and he clasped his hands before him, in an attitude inexpressibly convincing, while his voice sank to a horrified whisper, "saw the face of his murderer!"
I started, looked at him in amazement, a thrill as at a ghostly presence running through me.
"And was that" I began.
"My reason for denouncing the man I beheld before me in the hall of Miss Leavenworth’s house last night? It was." And, taking out his handkerchief, he wiped his forehead, on which the perspiration was standing in large drops.
"You would then intimate that the face you saw in your dream and the face you saw in the hall last night were the same?"
He gravely nodded his head.
I drew my chair nearer to his. "Tell me your dream," said I.
"It was the night before Mr. Leavenworth’s murder. I had gone to bed feeling especially contented with myself and the world at large; for, though my life is anything but a happy one," and he heaved a short sigh, "some pleasant words had been said to me that day, and I was revelling in the happiness they conferred, when suddenly a chill struck my heart, and the darkness which a moment before had appeared to me as the abode of peace thrilled to the sound of a supernatural cry, and I heard my name, ‘Trueman, Trueman, Trueman,’ repeated three times in a voice I did not recognize, and starting from my pillow beheld at my bedside a woman. Her face was strange to me," he solemnly proceeded, "but I can give you each and every detail of it, as, bending above me, she stared into my eyes with a growing terror that seemed to implore help,
