the chamber itself all was dark.

The wind had not yet risen and the shutter which a half-hour later
moved so restlessly on its creaking hinges, hugged the window so
tightly that I imagined Mr. Jeffrey had fastened it the night before.
Looking for some receptacle in which to set the candle I now lit,
I failed to find anything but an empty tumbler, so I made use of
that. Then I glanced about me, but seeing nothing worth my
attention--Mrs. Jeffrey's wedding fixings did not interest me, and
everything else about the room looking natural except the overturned
chair, which struck me as immaterial. I hurried downstairs again,
leaving the candle burning behind me in case I should wish to return
aloft after I had refreshed my mind with what had been written about
this old room.

"Not a sound disturbed the house as I seated myself to my reading
in front of the library shelves. I was as much alone under that
desolate roof as mortal could be with men anywhere within reach of
him. I enjoyed the solitude and was making a very pretty theory
for myself on a scrap of paper I tore from another old book when
a noise suddenly rose in front, which, slight as it was, was quite
unmistakable to ears trained in listening. Some one was unlocking
the front door.

"Naturally I thought it to be Mr. Jeffrey returning for a second
visit to his wife's house, and knowing what I might expect if he
surprised me on the premises, I restored the book hastily to its
place and as hastily blew out the candle. Then, with every
intention of flight, I backed toward the door by which I had
entered. But some impulse stronger than that of escape made me
stop just before I reached it. I could see nothing; the place was
dark as Tophet; but I could listen. The person--Mr. Jeffrey, or
some other--was coming my way and in perfect darkness. I could
hear the faltering steps--the fingers dragging along the walls;
then a rustle as of skirts, proving the intruder to be a woman--a
fact which greatly surprised me--then a long drawn sigh or gasp.

"The last determined me. The situation was too intense for me to
leave without first learning who the woman was who in terror and
shrinking dared to drag her half resisting feet through these empty
halls and into a place cursed with such unwholesome memories. I
did not think of Veronica. No one looks for a butterfly in the
depths of a dungeon. But I did think of Miss Tuttle--that woman of
resolute will. Without att