passage, on the lower
story, had doors at the two ends, and a stair-case. Windows answered to
the doors on the upper story. Annexed to this, on the eastern side, were
wings, divided, in like manner, into an upper and lower room; one of
them comprized a kitchen, and chamber above it for the servant, and
communicated, on both stories, with the parlour adjoining it below,
and the chamber adjoining it above. The opposite wing is of smaller
dimensions, the rooms not being above eight feet square. The lower of
these was used as a depository of household implements, the upper was a
closet in which I deposited my books and papers. They had but one inlet,
which was from the room adjoining. There was no window in the lower one,
and in the upper, a small aperture which communicated light and air, but
would scarcely admit the body. The door which led into this, was close
to my bed-head, and was always locked, but when I myself was within. The
avenues below were accustomed to be closed and bolted at nights.

The maid was my only companion, and she could not reach my chamber
without previously passing through the opposite chamber, and the middle
passage, of which, however, the doors were usually unfastened. If she
had occasioned this noise, she would have answered my repeated calls.
No other conclusion, therefore, was left me, but that I had mistaken the
sounds, and that my imagination had transformed some casual noise into
the voice of a human creature. Satisfied with this solution, I was
preparing to relinquish my listening attitude, when my ear was again
saluted with a new and yet louder whispering. It appeared, as before,
to issue from lips that touched my pillow. A second effort of attention,
however, clearly shewed me, that the sounds issued from within the
closet, the door of which was not more than eight inches from my pillow.

This second interruption occasioned a shock less vehement than the
former. I started, but gave no audible token of alarm. I was so much
mistress of my feelings, as to continue listening to what should be
said. The whisper was distinct, hoarse, and uttered so as to shew that
the speaker was desirous of being heard by some one near, but, at the
same time, studious to avoid being overheard by any other.

"Stop, stop, I say; madman as you are! there are better means than that.
Curse upon your rashness! There is no need to shoot."

Such were the words uttered in a tone of eagerness and anger, within so