“Impossible!” exclaimed others.  “See!  The moon shines beneath the porch, and shows every part of it except in the narrow shade of that pillar.  There is no one there.”

“Did not the door open?” whispered one of these fanciful persons.

“Didst thou see it too?” said his companion, in a startled tone.

But the general sentiment was opposed to the idea that a third visitant had made application at the door of the deserted house.  A few, however, adhered to this new marvel, and even declared that a red gleam like that of a torch had shone through the great front window, as if the negro were lighting a guest up the staircase.  This too was pronounced a mere fantasy.

But at once the whole multitude started, and each man beheld his own terror painted in the faces of all the rest.

“What an awful thing is this!” cried they.

A shriek too fearfully distinct for doubt had been heard within the mansion, breaking forth suddenly and succeeded by a deep stillness, as if a heart had burst in giving it utterance.  The people knew not whether to fly from the very sight of the house or to rush trembling in and search out the strange mystery.  Amid their confusion and affright they were somewhat reassured by the appearance of their clergyman, a venerable patriarch, and equally a saint, who had taught them and their fathers the way to heaven for more than the space of an ordinary lifetime.  He was a reverend figure with long white hair upon his shoulders, a white beard upon his breast and a back so bent over his staff that he seemed to be looking downward continually, as if to choose a proper grave for his weary frame.  It was some time before the good old man, being deaf and of impaired intellect, could be made to comprehend such portions of the affair as were comprehensible at all.  But when possessed of the facts, his energies assumed unexpected vigor.

“Verily,” said the old gentleman, “it will be fitting that I enter the mansion-house of the worthy Colonel Fenwicke, lest any harm should have befallen that true Christian woman whom ye call the ’Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet.’”

Behold, then, the venerable clergyman ascending the steps of the mansion with a torch-bearer behind him.  It was the elderly man who had spoken to the Old Maid, and the same who had afterward explained the shield of arms and recognized the features of the negro.  Like their predecessors, they gave three raps with the iron hammer.

“Old Caesar cometh not,” observed the priest.  “Well, I wot he no longer doth service in this mansion.”

“Assuredly, then, it was something worse in old Caesar’s likeness,” said the other adventurer.

“Be it as God wills,” answered the clergyman.  “See! my strength, though it be much decayed, hath sufficed to open this heavy door.  Let us enter and pass up the staircase.”