them had fallen out of their places, and lay shattered about the hearth.  The sexton had lit the rushlight; and the doctor, looking fearfully about the room, was just exhorting Dolph to be of good cheer, and to pluck up a stout heart, when a noise in the chimney, like voices and struggling, struck a sudden panic into the sexton.  He took to his heels with the lantern; the doctor followed hard after him; the stairs groaned and creaked as they hurried down, increasing their agitation and speed by its noises.  The front door slammed after them; and Dolph heard them scrabbling down the avenue, till the sound of their feet was lost in the distance.  That he did not join in this precipitate retreat, might have been owing to his possessing a little more courage than his companions, or perhaps that he had caught a glimpse of the cause of their dismay, in a nest of chimney swallows, that came tumbling down into the fire-place.

Being now left to himself, he secured the front door by a strong bolt and bar; and having seen that the other entrances were fastened, he returned to his desolate chamber.  Having made his supper from the basket which the good old cook had provided, he locked the chamber door, and retired to rest on a mattress in one corner.  The night was calm and still; and nothing broke upon the profound quiet but the lonely chirping of a cricket from the chimney of a distant chamber.  The rushlight, which stood in the centre of the deal table, shed a feeble yellow ray, dimly illumining the chamber, and making uncouth shapes and shadows on the walls, from the clothes which Dolph had thrown over a chair.

With all his boldness of heart, there was something subduing in this desolate scene; and he felt his spirits flag within him, as he lay on his hard bed and gazed about the room.  He was turning over in his mind his idle habits, his doubtful prospects, and now and then heaving a heavy sigh, as he thought on his poor old mother; for there is nothing like the silence and loneliness of night to bring dark shadows over the brightest mind.  By-and-by, he thought he heard a sound as if some one was walking below stairs.  He listened, and distinctly heard a step on the great staircase.  It approached solemnly and slowly, tramp—­tramp—­tramp!  It was evidently the tread of some heavy personage; and yet how could he have got into the house without making a noise?  He had examined all the fastenings, and was certain that every entrance was secure.  Still the steps advanced, tramp—­tramp—­tramp!  It was evident that the person approaching could not be a robber—­the step was too loud and deliberate; a robber would either be stealthy or precipitate.  And now the footsteps had ascended the staircase; they were slowly advancing along the passage, resounding through the silent and empty apartments.  The very cricket had ceased its melancholy note, and nothing interrupted their awful distinctness.  The door, which had been locked on the inside, slowly swung