For the first time I felt a creep of undefinable horror.  Not so my servant.  “Why, they don’t think to trap us, sir; I could break the trumpery door with a kick of my foot.”

“Try first if it will open to your hand,” said I, shaking off the vague apprehension that had seized me, “while I unclose the shutters and see what is without.”

I unbarred the shutters—­the window looked on the little back yard I have before described; there was no ledge without—­nothing to break the sheer descent of the wall.  No man getting out of that window would have found any footing till he had fallen on the stones below.

F——­, meanwhile, was vainly attempting to open the door.  He now turned round to me and asked my permission to use force.  And I should here state, in justice to the servant, that, far from evincing any superstitious terrors, his nerve, composure, and even gayety amidst circumstances so extraordinary, compelled my admiration, and made me congratulate myself on having secured a companion in every way fitted to the occasion.  I willingly gave him the permission he required.  But though he was a remarkably strong man, his force was as idle as his milder efforts; the door did not even shake to his stoutest kick.  Breathless and panting, he desisted.  I then tried the door myself, equally in vain.  As I ceased from the effort, again that creep of horror came over me; but this time it was more cold and stubborn.  I felt as if some strange and ghastly exhalation were rising up from the chinks of that rugged floor, and filling the atmosphere with a venomous influence hostile to human life.  The door now very slowly and quietly opened as of its own accord.  We precipitated ourselves into the landing-place.  We both saw a large pale light—­as large as the human figure but shapeless and unsubstantial—­move before us, and ascend the stairs that led from the landing into the attics.  I followed the light, and my servant followed me.  It entered, to the right of the landing, a small garret, of which the door stood open.  I entered in the same instant.  The light then collapsed into a small globule, exceedingly brilliant and vivid; rested a moment on a bed in the corner, quivered, and vanished.

We approached the bed and examined it—­a half-tester, such as is commonly found in attics devoted to servants.  On the drawers that stood near it we perceived an old faded silk kerchief, with the needle still left in a rent half repaired.  The kerchief was covered with dust; probably it had belonged to the old woman who had last died in that house, and this might have been her sleeping room.  I had sufficient curiosity to open the drawers:  there were a few odds and ends of female dress, and two letters tied round with a narrow ribbon of faded yellow.  I took the liberty to possess myself of the letters.  We found nothing else in the room worth noticing—­nor did the light reappear; but we distinctly heard, as we turned to go, a pattering footfall on the floor—­just before us.  We went through the other attics (in all four), the footfall still preceding us.  Nothing to be seen—­nothing but the footfall heard.  I had the letters in my hand:  just as I was descending the stairs I distinctly felt my wrist seized, and a faint soft effort made to draw the letters from my clasp.  I only held them the more tightly, and the effort ceased.