in the sanded
parlour of the "Katze." The noise was something indescribable, for
though there may have been some good voices among them, they were
drowned in the din. But though it prevented us from sleeping, it also
fairly drove away all ghostly alarms. By twelve o'clock or thereabouts
the party seemed to disperse, and all grew still. Then came some hours I
can never forget. There was faint moonlight by fits and starts, and I
not only found it impossible to sleep, I found it impossible to keep
my eyes shut. Some irresistible fascination seemed to force them open,
and obliged me ever and anon to turn in the direction of the stove,
from which, however, before going to bed, I had removed the blue paper
parcel. And each time I did so I said to myself, "Am I going to see that
figure standing there as Nora saw it? Shall I remain sane if I do? Shall
I scream out? Will it look at _me_, in turn, with its sad unearthly
eyes? Will it speak? If it moves across the room and comes near me, or
if I see it going towards Nora, or leaning over my Reggie sleeping there
in his innocence, misdoubting of no fateful presence near, what, oh!
what _shall_ I do?"

For in my heart of hearts, though I would not own it to Nora, I felt
convinced that what she had seen was no living human being--whence it
had come, or _why_, I could not tell. But in the quiet of the night I
had thought of what the woman at the china factory had told us, of the
young Englishman who had bought the other cup, who had promised to write
and never done so! What had become of him? "If," I said to myself, "if
I had the slightest reason to doubt his being at this moment alive and
well in his own country, as he pretty certainly is, I should really
begin to think he had been robbed and murdered by our surly landlord,
and that his spirit had appeared to us--the first compatriots who have
passed this way since, most likely--to tell the story."

I really think I must have been a little light-headed some part of that
night. My poor Nora, I am certain, never slept, but I can only hope her
imagination was less wildly at work than mine. From time to time I spoke
to her, and every time she was awake, for she always answered without
hesitation.

"I am quite comfortable, dear mamma, and I don't think I am very
frightened;" or else, "I have not slept much, but I have said my prayers
a great many times, and all the hymns I could remember. Don't mind about
me, mamma, and do try to slee