that it was but a gigantic dream.  Then, there is that dreadful, dark nebula (with its multitudes of red spheres) moving always within the shadow of the Dark Sun, sweeping along on its stupendous orbit, wrapped eternally in gloom.  And the faces that peered out at me!  God, do they, and does such a thing really exist? ...  There is still that little heap of grey ash, on my study floor.  I will not have it touched.

At times, when I am calmer, I have wondered what became of the outer planets of the Solar System.  It has occurred to me, that they may have broken loose from the sun’s attraction, and whirled away into space.  This is, of course, only a surmise.  There are so many things, about which I wonder.

Now that I am writing, let me record that I am certain, there is something horrible about to happen.  Last night, a thing occurred, which has filled me with an even greater terror, than did the Pit fear.  I will write it down now, and, if anything more happens, endeavor to make a note of it, at once.  I have a feeling, that there is more in this last affair, than in all those others.  I am shaky and nervous, even now, as I write.  Somehow, I think death is not very far away.  Not that I fear death—­as death is understood.  Yet, there is that in the air, which bids me fear—­an intangible, cold horror.  I felt it last night.  It was thus:—­

Last night, I was sitting here in my study, writing.  The door, leading into the garden, was half open.  At times, the metallic rattle of a dog’s chain, sounded faintly.  It belongs to the dog I have bought, since Pepper’s death.  I will not have him in the house—­not after Pepper.  Still, I have felt it better to have a dog about the place.  They are wonderful creatures.

I was much engrossed in my work, and the time passed, quickly.  Suddenly, I heard a soft noise on the path, outside in the garden—­pad, pad, pad, it went, with a stealthy, curious sound.  I sat upright, with a quick movement, and looked out through the opened door.  Again the noise came—­pad, pad, pad.  It appeared to be approaching.  With a slight feeling of nervousness, I stared into the gardens; but the night hid everything.

Then the dog gave a long howl, and I started.  For a minute, perhaps, I peered, intently; but could hear nothing.  After a little, I picked up the pen, which I had laid down, and recommenced my work.  The nervous feeling had gone; for I imagined that the sound I had heard, was nothing more than the dog walking ’round his kennel, at the length of his chain.

A quarter of an hour may have passed; then, all at once, the dog howled again, and with such a plaintively sorrowful note, that I jumped to my feet, dropping my pen, and inking the page on which I was at work.

‘Curse that dog!’ I muttered, noting what I had done.  Then, even as I said the words, there sounded again that queer—­pad, pad, pad.  It was horribly close—­almost by the door, I thought.  I knew, now, that it could not be the dog; his chain would not allow him to come so near.