64
WYLOER'S HAJVIJ.
lighted the pair of wax candles which I found upon the
small writing table. How wonderful and mysterious is
the influence of light! What sort of beings must those
be who hate it?
The floor, more than anything else, showed the great
age of the room. It was warped and arghed all along by
the wall between the door and the window. My bed was
unexceptionably comfortable, but, in my then mood, I
could have wished it a great deal more modern. Its four
posts were, like the rest of it, oak, well-nigh black, fan-
tastically turned and carved, with a great urn-like capi-
tal and base, and shaped midway, like a gigantic lance-
handle. Its curtains were of thick and faded tapestry.
There was a great lowering press of oak, and some shelves,
with withered green and gold leather borders. All the
furniture belonged to other times.
I shan't trouble you about my train of thoughts or fan-
cies; but I began to feel very like a gentleman in a ghost
story, watching experimentally in a haunted chamber.
My cigar case was a resource. I was not a bit afraid of
being found out. I did not even take the precaution of
smoking up the chimney. I boldly lighted my cheroot.
I peeped through the dense window curtain: there were
no shutters. A cold, bright moon was shining with clear
sharp lights and shadows. Everything looked strangely
cold and motionless outside. The chapel lay full in view,
where so many of the strange and equivocal race, under
whose ancient roof-tree I then stood, were lying under
their tomb stones.
Somehow, I had grown nervous. A little bit of plaster
tumbled down the chimney, and startled me confoundedly.
Then, some time after, I fancied I heard a creaking step,
on the lobby outside, and. candle in hand, opened the door,
and looked out with an odd sort of expectation, and a
rather agreeable disappointment, upon vacancy.