nd the world. And then, again, in our new and better state, to
prove our patience and our faith--

"The more trouble befalls you, the nearer is God to you. He visits you in
sorrow--and sorrow, as well as joy, is a sign of his presence. If, then,
other griefs overtake you, remember this--be patient, be faithful; and
bless the name of God."

I returned home comforted and happy, although I felt assured that some
further and sadder trial was before me.

Still our household was overcast by the same insurmountable dread of our
tenant. The same strange habits characterised him, and the same
unaccountable sounds disquieted us--an atmosphere of death and malice
hovered about his door, and we all hated and feared to pass it.

Let me now tell, as well and briefly as I may, the dreadful circumstances
of my last great trial. One morning, my wife being about her household
affairs, and I on the point of starting for town, I went into the parlour
for some letters which I was to take with me. I cannot easily describe my
consternation when, on entering the room, I saw our lodger seated near
the window, with our darling little girl upon his knee.

His back was toward the door, but I could plainly perceive that the
respirator had been removed from his mouth, and that the odious green
goggles were raised. He was sitting, as it seemed, absolutely without
motion, and his face was advanced close to that of the child.

I stood looking at this group in a state of stupor for some seconds. He
was, I suppose, conscious of my presence, for although he did not turn
his head, or otherwise take any note of my arrival, he readjusted the
muffler which usually covered his mouth, and lowered the clumsy
spectacles to their proper place.

The child was sitting upon his knee as motionless as he himself, with a
countenance white and rigid as that of a corpse, and from which every
trace of meaning, except some vague character of terror, had fled, and
staring with a fixed and dilated gaze into his face.

As it seemed, she did not perceive my presence. Her eyes were transfixed
and fascinated. She did not even seem to me to breathe. Horror and
anguish at last overcame my stupefaction.

"What--what is it?" I cried; "what ails my child, my darling child?"

"I'd be glad to know, myself," he replied, coolly; "it is certainly
something very queer."

"What is it, darling?" I repeated, frantically, addressing the child.

"What is it?" he reiterated. "Why it'