When I dressed Mrs. Brympton for dinner she remarked on my pale looks and asked what ailed me.  I told her I had a headache, and she said she would not require me again that evening, and advised me to go to bed.

It was a fact that I could scarcely keep on my feet; yet I had no fancy to spend a solitary evening in my room.  I sat downstairs in the hall as long as I could hold my head up; but by nine I crept upstairs, too weary to care what happened if I could but get my head on a pillow.  The rest of the household went to bed soon afterward; they kept early hours when the master was away, and before ten I heard Mrs. Blinder’s door close, and Mr. Wace’s soon after.

It was a very still night, earth and air all muffled in snow.  Once in bed I felt easier, and lay quiet, listening to the strange noises that come out in a house after dark.  Once I thought I heard a door open and close again below:  it might have been the glass door that led to the gardens.  I got up and peered out of the window; but it was in the dark of the moon, and nothing visible outside but the streaking of snow against the panes.

I went back to bed and must have dozed, for I jumped awake to the furious ringing of my bell.  Before my head was clear I had sprung out of bed, and was dragging on my clothes. It is going to happen now, I heard myself saying; but what I meant I had no notion.  My hands seemed to be covered with glue—­I thought I should never get into my clothes.  At last I opened my door and peered down the passage.  As far as my candle-flame carried, I could see nothing unusual ahead of me.  I hurried on, breathless; but as I pushed open the baize door leading to the main hall my heart stood still, for there at the head of the stairs was Emma Saxon, peering dreadfully down into the darkness.

For a second I couldn’t stir; but my hand slipped from the door, and as it swung shut the figure vanished.  At the same instant there came another sound from below stairs—­a stealthy mysterious sound, as of a latch-key turning in the house-door.  I ran to Mrs. Brympton’s room and knocked.

There was no answer, and I knocked again.  This time I heard some one moving in the room; the bolt slipped back and my mistress stood before me.  To my surprise I saw that she had not undressed for the night.  She gave me a startled look.

“What is this, Hartley?” she says in a whisper.  “Are you ill?  What are you doing here at this hour?”

“I am not ill, madam; but my bell rang.”

At that she turned pale, and seemed about to fall.

“You are mistaken,” she said harshly; “I didn’t ring.  You must have been dreaming.”  I had never heard her speak in such a tone.  “Go back to bed,” she said, closing the door on me.

But as she spoke I heard sounds again in the hall below:  a man’s step this time; and the truth leaped out on me.

“Madam,” I said, pushing past her, “there is someone in the house—­”