s. The room in which I slept was one of the smallest, and
contained only two beds, one of which was occupied by the housekeeper, a
very respectable old lady, and the other by myself. Sometimes I had a
bedfellow, and sometimes not. This room had probably been a vestibule,
or the ante-chamber to some larger apartment, and it now formed an
abutment to the edifice, all on one side of it being ancient, and the
other modern. It was lighted by one narrow, high, Gothic window, the
panes of which were very small, lozenged, and many of them still
stained. The roof was groined and concave, and still gay with tarnished
gold. The mouldings and traceries sprang up from the four corners, and
all terminated in the centre, in which grinned a Medusa's head, with her
circling snakes, in high preservation, and of great and ghastly beauty.
There were other grotesque visages, sprinkled here and there over that
elaborate roof; but look at that Medusa from what point you might, the
painted wooden eyes were cast with a stolid sternness upon you. When I
had a bedfellow, it was always some castaway like myself--some poor
wretch who could not go home and complain that he was put to sleep in
the "haunted chamber." The boys told strange tales of that room, and
they all believed that the floor was stained with blood. I often
examined it, both by day and by candle-light; it was very old, and of
oak, dark, and much discoloured. But even my excited fancy could
discover nothing like blood-spots upon it. After all, when I was alone
in that bed-chamber, for the housekeeper seldom entered before midnight,
and the flickering and feeble oil-lamp, that always burned upon her
table, threw its uncertain rays upwards, and made the central face
quiver as it were into life, I would shrink, horror-stricken, under the
clothes, and silently pray for the morning. It was certainly a fearful
room for a visionary child like myself, with whom the existence of
ghosts made an article of faith, and who had been once before frightened
even unto the death, by supernatural terrors.

But of all this I never complained. I have not merit enough to boast
that I am proud, for pride has always something ennobling about it: but
I was vain, and vanity enabled me to put on the appearance of courage.
When questioned by the few schoolfellows who would speak to me, I
acknowledged no ghosts, and would own to no fear. All this, in the
sequel, was remembered to my honour. Besides