Another moment and it would
reach my shoes. In my dismay I shrieked aloud. There was a sudden stir
without, a significant clatter of steel, and the next moment--despite
the fact that it was locked--the door slowly opened. The limits of my
endurance had now happily been reached, the over-taxed valves of my
heart could stand no more--I fainted. On my awakening to consciousness
it was morning, and the welcome sun rays revealed no evidences of the
distressing drama. I own I had a hard tussle before I could make up my
mind to spend another night in that room; and my feelings as I shut
the door on my retreating maid, and prepared to get into bed, were not
the most enviable. But nothing happened, nor did I again experience
anything of the sort till the evening before I left. I had lain down
all the afternoon--for I was tired after a long morning's tramp on the
moors, a thing I dearly love--and I was thinking it was about time to
get up, when a dark shadow suddenly fell across my face.
I looked up hastily, and there, standing by my bedside and bending
over me, was a gigantic figure in bright armour.
Its visor was up, and what I saw within the casque is stamped for ever
on my memory. It was the face of the dead--the long since dead--with
the expression--the subtly hellish expression--of the living. As I
gazed helplessly at it, it bent lower. I threw up my hands to ward it
off. There was a loud rap at the door. And as my maid softly entered
to tell me tea was ready--it vanished.
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