be weak not to add,
that I myself, though bent on the investigation I have spoken of, pledged
to Roland to carry it out, and feeling that my boy's health, perhaps his
life, depended on the result of my inquiry,--I felt the most
unaccountable reluctance to pass these ruins on my way home. My curiosity
was intense; and yet it was all my mind could do to pull my body along. I
daresay the scientific people would describe it the other way, and
attribute my cowardice to the state of my stomach. I went on; but if I
had followed my impulse, I should have turned and bolted. Everything in
me seemed to cry out against it: my heart thumped, my pulses all began,
like sledge-hammers, beating against my ears and every sensitive part. It
was very dark, as I have said; the old house, with its shapeless tower,
loomed a heavy mass through the darkness, which was only not entirely so
solid as itself. On the other hand, the great dark cedars of which we
were so proud seemed to fill up the night. My foot strayed out of the
path in my confusion and the gloom together, and I brought myself up with
a cry as I felt myself knock against something solid. What was it? The
contact with hard stone and lime and prickly bramble-bushes restored me a
little to myself. "Oh, it's only the old gable," I said aloud, with a
little laugh to reassure myself. The rough feeling of the stones
reconciled me. As I groped about thus, I shook off my visionary folly.
What so easily explained as that I should have strayed from the path in
the darkness? This brought me back to common existence, as if I had been
shaken by a wise hand out of all the silliness of superstition. How silly
it was, after all! What did it matter which path I took? I laughed again,
this time with better heart, when suddenly, in a moment, the blood was
chilled in my veins, a shiver stole along my spine, my faculties seemed
to forsake me. Close by me, at my side, at my feet, there was a sigh. No,
not a groan, not a moaning, not anything so tangible,--a perfectly soft,
faint, inarticulate sigh. I sprang back, and my heart stopped beating.
Mistaken! no, mistake was impossible. I heard it as clearly as I hear
myself speak; a long, soft, weary sigh, as if drawn to the utmost, and
emptying out a load of sadness that filled the breast. To hear this in
the solitude, in the dark, in the night (though it was still early), had
an effect which I cannot describe. I feel it now,--something cold
creeping over me,