She then asked John if he was willing to
leave the key of the gate and the draw-bridge with her. "Perhaps I may
as well," said he; "for if you bar the gate and let down the bridge,
I cannot get in myself until you let me in." John handed her the keys.
"When I come," said he, "I will halloo, and you must let me in." This
she promised to do, and John departed.[A]

[Footnote A: Of the place where Melissa was confined, as described
in the foregoing pages, scarce a trace now remains. By the events
of the revolution, the premises fell into other hands. The mansion,
out houses and walls were torn down, the cemetery levelled, the
moat filled up; the locusts and elm trees were cut down; all
obstructions were removed, and the yard and garden converted into
a beautiful meadow. An elegant farm-house is now erected on the
place where John's hut then stood and the neighbourhood is thinly
settled.]

* * * * *

That night Melissa let down the bridge, locked and barred the gate, and
the doors and windows of the house: she also went again over all parts
of the building, strictly searching every place, though she was well
convinced she should find nothing extraordinary. She then retired to her
chamber, seated herself at a western window, and watched the slow
declining sun, as it leisurely sunk behind the lofty groves. Pensive
twilight spread her misty mantle over the landscape; the western horizon
glowed with the spangles of evening. Deepening glooms advanced. The last
beam of day faded from the view, and the world was enveloped in night.
The owl hooted solemnly in the forest, and the whippoorwill sung
cheerfully in the garden. Innumerable stars glittered in the firmament,
intermingling their quivering lustre with the pale splendours of the
milky way.

Melissa did not retire from the window until late; she then shut it and
withdrew within the room. She determined not to go to bed that night. If
she was to be visited by beings, material or immaterial, she chose not
again to encounter them in darkness, or to be surprised when she was
asleep. But why should she fear? She knew of none she had displeased
except her father, her aunt and Beauman. If by any of those the late
terrifying scenes had been wrought, she had now effectually precluded a
recurrence thereof, for she was well convinced that no human being could
now enter the enclosure without her permission. But if super