Fearing, however, that the train of thought into which I fell might unsteady my nerves, I fully determined to keep my mind in a fit state to cope with whatever of marvelous the advancing night might bring forth.  I roused myself; laid the letters on the table; stirred up the fire, which was still bright and cheering; and opened my volume of Macaulay.  I read quietly enough till about half past eleven.  I then threw myself dressed upon the bed, and told my servant he might retire to his own room, but must keep himself awake.  I bade him leave open the door between the two rooms.  Thus alone, I kept two candles burning on the table by my bed head.  I placed my watch beside the weapons, and calmly resumed my Macaulay.  Opposite to me the fire burned clear; and on the hearth rug, seemingly asleep, lay the dog.  In about twenty minutes I felt an exceedingly cold air pass by my cheek, like a sudden draught.  I fancied the door to my right, communicating with the landing place, must have got open; but no,—­it was closed.  I then turned my glance to my left, and saw the flame of the candles violently swayed as by a wind.  At the same moment the watch beside the revolver softly slid from the table,—­softly, softly; no visible hand,—­it was gone.  I sprang up, seizing the revolver with the one hand, the dagger with the other; I was not willing that my weapons should share the fate of the watch.  Thus armed, I looked round the floor,—­no sign of the watch.  Three slow, loud, distinct knocks were now heard at the bed head; my servant called out, “Is that you, sir?”

“No; be on your guard.”

The dog now roused himself and sat on his haunches, his ears moving quickly backward and forward.  He kept his eyes fixed on me with a look so strange that he concentered all my attention on himself.  Slowly he rose up, all his hair bristling, and stood perfectly rigid, and with the same wild stare.  I had no time, however, to examine the dog.  Presently my servant emerged from his room; and if ever I saw horror in the human face, it was then.  I should not have recognized him had we met in the street, so altered was every lineament.  He passed by me quickly, saying, in a whisper that seemed scarcely to come from his lips, “Run, run! it is after me!” He gained the door to the landing, pulled it open, and rushed forth.  I followed him into the landing involuntarily, calling him to stop; but, without heeding me, he bounded down the stairs, clinging to the balusters, and taking several steps at a time.  I heard, where I stood, the street door open,—­heard it again clap to.  I was left alone in the haunted house.

It was but for a moment that I remained undecided whether or not to follow my servant; pride and curiosity alike forbade so dastardly a flight.  I re-entered my room, closing the door after me, and proceeded cautiously into the interior chamber.  I encountered nothing to justify my servant’s terror.  I again carefully examined the walls, to see if there were any concealed door.  I could find no trace of one,—­not even a seam in the dull-brown paper with which the room was hung.  How, then, had the thing, whatever it was, which had so scared him, obtained ingress except though my own chamber?