So we grew silent, and again I thought of suicide, and of the unhappy old man, who just then whispered a sentence or two to himself with a sigh.

For the next hour he had been quite silent, and old Wyat informed me that she must go down for candles.  Ours were already burnt down to the sockets.

‘There’s a candle in the next room,’ I suggested, hating the idea of being left alone with the patient.

‘Hoot!  Miss.  I dare na’ set a candle but wax in his presence,’ whispered the old woman, scornfully.

’I think if we were to stir the fire, and put on a little more coal, we should have a great deal of light.’

‘He’ll ha’ the candles,’ said Dame Wyat, doggedly; and she tottered from the chamber, muttering to herself; and I heard her take her candle from the next room and depart, shutting the outer door after her.

Here was I then alone, but for this unearthly companion, whom I feared inexpressibly, at two o’clock, in the vast old house of Bartram.

I stirred the fire.  It was low, and would not blaze.  I stood up, and, with my hand on the mantelpiece, endeavoured to think of cheerful things.  But it was a struggle against wind and tide—­vain; and so I drifted away into haunted regions.

Uncle Silas was perfectly still.  I would not suffer myself to think of the number of dark rooms and passages which now separated me from the other living tenants of the house.  I awaited with a false composure the return of old Wyat.

Over the mantelpiece was a looking-glass.  At another time this might have helped to entertain my solitary moments, but now I did not like to venture a peep.  A small thick Bible lay on the chimneypiece, and leaning its back against the mirror, I began to read in it with a mind as attentively directed as I could.  While so engaged in turning over the leaves, I lighted upon two or three odd-looking papers, which had been folded into it.  One was a broad printed thing, with names and dates written into blank spaces, and was about the size of a quarter of a yard of very broad ribbon.  The others were mere scraps, with ‘Dudley Ruthyn’ penned in my cousin’s vulgar round-hand at the foot.  While I folded and replaced these, I really don’t know what caused me to fancy that something was moving behind me, as I stood with my back toward the bed.  I do not recollect any sound whatever; but instinctively I glanced into the mirror, and my eyes were instantly fixed by what I saw.

The figure of Uncle Silas rose up, and dressed in a long white morning gown, slid over the end of the bed, and with two or three swift noiseless steps, stood behind me, with a death-like scowl and a simper.  Preternaturally tall and thin, he stood for a moment almost touching me, with the white bandage pinned across his forehead, his bandaged arm stiffly by his side, and diving over my shoulder, with his long thin hand he snatched the Bible, and whispered over my head—­’The serpent beguiled her and she did eat;’ and after a momentary pause, he glided to the farthest window, and appeared to look out upon the midnight prospect.