I learned, moreover, at intervals, and through broken and equivocal hints, another singular feature of his mental condition.  He was enchained by certain superstitious impressions in regard to the dwelling which he tenanted, and whence, for many years, he had never ventured forth—­in regard to an influence whose supposititious force was conveyed in terms too shadowy here to be re-stated—­an influence which some peculiarities in the mere form and substance of his family mansion, had, by dint of long sufferance, he said, obtained over his spirit—­an effect which the physique of the grey walls and turrets, and of the dim tarn into which they all looked down, had, at length, brought about upon the morale of his existence.

He admitted, however, although with hesitation, that much of the peculiar gloom which thus afflicted him could be traced to a more natural and far more palpable origin—­to the severe and long-continued illness—­indeed to the evidently approaching dissolution—­of a tenderly beloved sister—­his sole companion for long years—­his last and only relative on earth.  “Her decease,” he said, with a bitterness which I can never forget, “would leave him (him the hopeless and the frail) the last of the ancient race of the Ushers.”  While he spoke, the Lady Madeline (for so was she called) passed slowly through a remote portion of the apartment, and, without having noticed my presence, disappeared.  I regarded her with an utter astonishment not unmingled with dread—­and yet I found it impossible to account for such feelings.  A sensation of stupor oppressed me, as my eyes followed her retreating steps.  When a door, at length, closed upon her, my glance sought instinctively and eagerly the countenance of the brother—­but he had buried his face in his hands, and I could only perceive that a far more than ordinary wanness had overspread the emaciated fingers through which trickled many passionate tears.

The disease of the Lady Madeline had long baffled the skill of her physicians.  A settled apathy, a gradual wasting away of the person, and frequent although transient affections of a partially cataleptical character, were the unusual diagnosis.  Hitherto she had steadily borne up against the pressure of her malady, and had not betaken herself finally to bed; but, on the closing in of the evening of my arrival at the house, she succumbed (as her brother told me at night with inexpressible agitation) to the prostrating power of the destroyer; and I learned that the glimpse I had obtained of her person would thus probably be the last I should obtain—­that the lady, at least while living, would be seen by me no more.

For several days ensuing, her name was unmentioned by either Usher or myself:  and during this period I was busied in earnest endeavours to alleviate the melancholy of my friend.  We painted and read together; or I listened, as if in a dream, to the wild improvisations of his speaking guitar.  And thus, as a closer and still closer intimacy admitted me more unreservedly into the recesses of his spirit, the more bitterly did I perceive the futility of all attempt at cheering a mind from which darkness, as if an inherent positive quality, poured forth upon all objects of the moral and physical universe, in one unceasing radiation of gloom.