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 doors
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 draft. 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 the left, and saw the flames 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 eye fixed on me with a look so
strange that he concentered all my attention on himself. Slowly he rose,
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 I ever saw horror in the human face, it was then.
I should not have recognized him had we met in the streets, 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.