In extinguishing his meagre allowance of candle Mr. Jarette's object was
to preserve it against some unforeseen need. He may have thought, too,
or half thought, that the darkness would be no worse at one time than
another, and if the situation became insupportable it would be better to
have a means of relief, or even release. At any rate it was wise to have
a little reserve of light, even if only to enable him to look at his
watch.
No sooner had he blown out the candle and set it on the floor at his
side than he settled himself comfortably in the arm-chair, leaned back
and closed his eyes, hoping and expecting to sleep. In this he was
disappointed; he had never in his life felt less sleepy, and in a few
minutes he gave up the attempt. But what could he do? He could not go
groping about in absolute darkness at the risk of bruising himself--at
the risk, too, of blundering against the table and rudely disturbing the
dead. We all recognize their right to lie at rest, with immunity from
all that is harsh and violent. Jarette almost succeeded in making
himself believe that considerations of this kind restrained him from
risking the collision and fixed him to the chair.
While thinking of this matter he fancied that he heard a faint sound in
the direction of the table--what kind of sound he could hardly have
explained. He did not turn his head. Why should he--in the darkness? But
he listened--why should he not? And listening he grew giddy and grasped
the arms of the chair for support. There was a strange ringing in his
ears; his head seemed bursting; his chest was oppressed by the
constriction of his clothing. He wondered why it was so, and whether
these were symptoms of fear. Then, with a long and strong expiration,
his chest appeared to collapse, and with the great gasp with which he
refilled his exhausted lungs the vertigo left him and he knew that so
intently had he listened that he had held his breath almost to
suffocation. The revelation was vexatious; he arose, pushed away the
chair with his foot and strode to the centre of the room. But one does
not stride far in darkness; he began to grope, and finding the wall
followed it to an angle, turned, followed it past the two windows and
there in another corner came into violent contact with the
reading-stand, overturning it. It made a clatter that startled him. He
was annoyed. "How the devil could I have forgotten where it was?" he
muttered, and groped his way along the third wall to the fireplace. "I
must put things to rights," said he, feeling the floor for the candle.
Having recovered that, he lighted it and instantly turned his eyes to
the table, where, naturally, nothing had undergone any change. The
reading-stand lay unobserved upon the floor: he had forgotten to "put it
to rights." He looked all about the room, dispersing the deeper shadows
by movements of the candle in his hand, and crossing over to the door
tested it by turning and pulling the knob with all his strength. It did
not yield and this seemed to afford him a certain satisfaction; indeed,
he secured it more firmly by a bolt which he had not before observed.
Returning to his chair, he looked at his watch; it was half-past nine.
With a start of surprise he held the watch at his ear. It had not
stopped. The candle was now visibly shorter. He again extinguished it,
placing it on the floor at his side as before.
Mr. Jarette was not at his ease; he was distinctly dissatisfied with his
surroundings, and with himself for being so. "What have I to fear?" he
thought. "This is ridiculous and disgraceful; I will not be so great a
fool." But courage does not come of saying, "I will be courageous," nor
of recognizing its appropriateness to the occasion. The more Jarette
condemned himself, the more reason he gave himself for condemnation; the
greater the number of variations which he played upon the simple theme
of the harmlessness of the dead, the more insupportable grew the discord
of his emotions. "What!" he cried aloud in the anguish of his spirit,
"what! shall I, who have not a shade of superstition in my nature--I,
who have no belief in immortality--I, who know (and never more clearly
than now) that the after-life is the dream of a desire--shall I lose at
once my bet, my honor and my self-respect, perhaps my reason, because
certain savage ancestors dwelling in caves and burrows conceived the
monstrous notion that the dead walk by night?--that--" Distinctly,
unmistakably, Mr. Jarette heard behind him a light, soft sound of
footfalls, deliberate, regular, successively nearer!