He had examined all the fastenings, and was certain that every entrance
was secure. Still the steps advanced, tramp--tramp--tramp! It was
evident that the person approaching could not be a robber--the step
was too loud and deliberate; a robber would either be stealthy or
precipitate. And now the footsteps had ascended the staircase; they
were slowly advancing along the passage, resounding through the silent
and empty apartments. The very cricket had ceased its melancholy note,
and nothing interrupted their awful distinctness. The door, which had
been locked on the inside, slowly swung open, as if self-moved. The
footsteps entered the room; but no one was to be seen. They passed
slowly and audibly across it, tramp--tramp--tramp! but whatever made
the sound was invisible. Dolph rubbed his eyes, and stared about him;
he could see to every part of the dimly-lighted chamber; all was
vacant; yet still he heard those mysterious footsteps, solemnly walking
about the chamber. They ceased, and all was dead silence. There was
something more appalling in this invisible visitation, than there would
have been in anything that addressed itself to the eyesight. It was
awfully vague and indefinite. He felt his heart beat against his ribs;
a cold sweat broke out upon his forehead; he lay for some time in a
state of violent agitation; nothing, however, occurred to increase his
alarm. His light gradually burnt down into the socket, and he fell
asleep. When he awoke it was broad daylight; the sun was peering
through the cracks of the window-shutters, and the birds were merrily
singing about the house. The bright, cheery day soon put to flight all
the terrors of the preceding night. Dolph laughed, or rather tried to
laugh, at all that had passed, and endeavoured to persuade himself that
it was a mere freak of the imagination, conjured up by the stories he
had heard; but he was a little puzzled to find the door of his room
locked on the inside, notwithstanding that he had positively seen it
swing open as the footsteps had entered. He returned to town in a state
of considerable perplexity; but he determined to say nothing on the
subject, until his doubts were either confirmed or removed by another
night's watching. His silence was a grievous disappointment to the
gossips who had gathered at the doctor's mansion. They had prepared
their minds to hear direful tales; and they were almost in a rage at
being assured that he had nothing to relate.