The moment I found myself out of the neighborhood of that strange picture, it seemed as if the charm were broken.  All its influence was at an end.  I felt assured that it was confined to its own dreary chamber, for I had, with a sort of instinctive caution, turned the key when I closed the door.  I soon calmed down, therefore, into a state of tranquillity; from that into a drowsiness, and finally into a deep sleep; out of which I did not awake, until the housemaid, with her besom and her matin song, came to put the room in order.  She stared at finding me stretched upon the sofa; but I presume circumstances of the kind were not uncommon after hunting dinners, in her master’s bachelor establishment; for she went on with her song and her work, and took no farther heed of me.

I had an unconquerable repugnance to return to my chamber; so I found my way to the butler’s quarters, made my toilet in the best way circumstances would permit, and was among the first to appear at the breakfast table.  Our breakfast was a substantial fox-hunter’s repast, and the company were generally assembled at it.  When ample justice had been done to the tea, coffee, cold meats, and humming ale, for all these were furnished in abundance, according to the tastes of the different guests, the conversation began to break out, with all the liveliness and freshness of morning mirth.

“But who is the hero of the haunted chamber?—­Who has seen the ghost last night?” said the inquisitive gentleman, rolling his lobster eyes about the table.

The question set every tongue in motion; a vast deal of bantering; criticising of countenances; of mutual accusation and retort took place.  Some had drunk deep, and some were unshaven, so that there were suspicious faces enough in the assembly.  I alone could not enter with ease and vivacity into the joke.  I felt tongue-tied—­embarrassed.  A recollection of what I had seen and felt the preceding night still haunted my mind.

It seemed as if the mysterious picture still held a thrall upon me.  I thought also that our host’s eye was turned on me with an air of curiosity.  In short, I was conscious that I was the hero of the night, and felt as if every one might read it in my looks.

The jokes, however, passed over, and no suspicion seemed to attach to me.  I was just congratulating myself on my escape, when a servant came in, saying, that the gentleman who had slept on the sofa in the drawing-room, had left his watch under one of the pillows.  My repeater was in his hand.

“What!” said the inquisitive gentleman, “did any gentleman sleep on the sofa?”

“Soho! soho! a hare—­a hare!” cried the old gentleman with the flexible nose.

I could not avoid acknowledging the watch, and was rising in great confusion, when a boisterous old squire who sat beside me, exclaimed, slapping me on the shoulder, “’Sblood, lad! thou’rt the man as has seen the ghost!”