a chiffonniere, his
touch displacing a china cup and saucer standing upon the marble top.
The sound was very slight, but it seemed to have alarmed the burglar,
for as Brace stood motionless behind the door, there was a faint, very
faint rustling sound, and a hard breathing coming nearer and nearer,
till, as he shrank slightly back, he could hear the dull throb, throb of
another beating heart, and he held his breath till the oppression was
fearful.

He had but to stretch forth his hand to seize this midnight visitor, but
something restrained him, and after a few minutes' pause, the rustling
and gliding sound recommenced; then came the faint rattle of a
door-handle, and this time the slight creaking of hinges.

Brace crept round the door, and passed cautiously into another room, his
every step measured with the greatest care, till, after traversing some
distance of what seemed an endless journey amongst crowded furniture, he
was almost in despair, regretting that he had not seized the man when
within his reach, for he could find no door; but a minute later, and
there was a soft rattle on his right--a sound as of some one lifting
fire-irons from their place and laying them upon a soft rug; and, guided
by the sound, Brace felt his way to another open door, and stood upon
the long-piled carpet of another room, where he could again hear the
hard breathing. There was a faint click, and what sounded like the fall
of a standard, and then once more utter silence for full a quarter of an
hour.

But at the end of that time, measured out by a chiming pendule upon the
chimney-piece, the rustling again commenced; and, as Brace cautiously
stepped two paces nearer, he could, mentally, see all that took place,
as, with nerves strained to their greatest tension, he eagerly drank in
each sound.

The rough visitor was upon his knees, moving the fender aside. Then
there was the rustling, as of the removal of paper-shavings from the
grate, and directly after the click, click of iron-work.

What could that be? What did it mean? The man must be at work at the
grate. Was he a workman, in a state of insanity or somnambulism? This
could be no burglar.

Yes, there it was again, the clicking rattle of the iron plate of a
register-stove, followed by a faint puff of air, laden with that fine,
impalpable soot from an unused chimney; and, as the excitement began to
fade, Brace smiled bitterly, with something like contempt, for the
pitiful