But of these I knew nothing yet
The cock he crew, away then flewthe fiend who had enslaved me through the awful watches of thenight; and, harassed and nervous, I rose to the duties of the day.I had-I can't say exactly why, but it may have been from the exquisiteanguish and profound impressions of unearthly horror, with which thisstrange phantasmagoria was associated-an insurmountable antipathyto describing the exact nature of my nightly troubles to my friend andcomrade. Generally, however, I told him that I was haunted by abomin-ble dreams; and, true to the imputed materialism of medicine, we putour heads together to dispel my horrors, not by exorcism, but by a tonicI will do this tonic justice, and frankly admit that the accursed portraitbegan to intermit its visits under its influence. What of that?
Was thissingular apparition-as full of character as of terror-therefore thecreature of my fancy, or the invention of my poor stomach? Was it, inshort, subjective(to borrow the technical slang of the day) and not thepalpable aggression and intrusion of an external agent? That, gooend, as we will both admit, by no means follows. The evil spirit, whoenthralled my senses in the shape of that portrait, may have been just asnear me, just as energetic, just as malignant, though I saw him not. Whatmeans the whole moral code of revealed religion regarding the duekeeping of our own bodies, soberness, temperance, etc. here is an obvious connexon between the material and the invisible, the healthy tone ofhe system, and its unimpaired energy, may, for aught we can tell, guardus against influences which would otherwise render life itself terrificThe mesmerist and the electro-biologist will fail upon an average withnine patients out of ten-so may the evil spirit. Special conditions of thecorporeal system are indispensable to the production of certain spirituaphenomena. The operation succeeds sometimes--sometimes fails-thatis allI found afterwards that my would-be sceptical companion had histroubles too. But of these I knew nothing yet. One night, for a wonder, Iwas sleeping soundly, when I was roused by a step on the lobby outsidemy room, followed by the loud clang of what turned out to be a largebrass candlestick, flung with all his force by poor Tom Ludlow over thebanisters, and rattling with a rebound down the second flight of stairsbounced into my room backwards, in a state of extraordinary agitator oand almost concurrently with this, Tom burst open my door, an
had jumped out of bed and clutched him by the arm before I had anydistinct idea of my own whereabouts. There w'e were-in oushirts-standing before the open door-staring through the great oldbanister opposite, at the lobby window, through which the sickly light ofa clouded moon was gleamingWhat's the matter, Tom? What's the matter with vou? what the devilsthe matter with you, Tom? I demanded shaking him with nervousimpatienceHe took a long breath before he answered me, and then it was not verycoherentlyIt's nothing, nothing at all-did I speak?-what did I say?-where'she candle, richard? It's dark I-I had a candleYes, dark enough, I said: but what's the matter?-what is it?-whtnt vouspeak, Tom?-hate you lost your wits?-what is the matterThe matter?-oh, it is all over. It must have been a dream-nothing atall but a dream-don't you think so? It could not be anything more thana dream.Of course said I, feeling uncommonly nervous, it toas a dream.I thought, he said, there was a man in my room, and-and I jumpedout of bed; and-and-where' s the candle?In your room, most likely, I said, shall I go and bring itNo: stay here-don't go: it's no matter-don't, I tell you; it was all adream. Bolt the door Dick: Ill stay here with you-I feel nervous. SoDick, like a good fellow, light your candle and open the window-I amin a shocking statedid as he asked me, and robing himself like Granuaile in one of myblankets, he seated himself close beside my bed.Every body knows how contagious is fear of all sorts, but more espe-cially that particular kind of fear under which poor Tom was at that moment labouring. I would not have heard, nor I believe would he have recapitulated, just at that moment, for half the world, the details of thehideous vision which had so unmanned him
Don't mind telling me anything about your nonsensical dream, Tom.said I affecting contempt, really in a panie; let us talk about somethingelse; but it is quite plain that this dirty old house disagrees with us both,and hang me if I stay here any longer, to be pestered with indigestionand-and-bad nights, so we may as well look out for lodgings-don'twou think so? -at onceTom agreed, and, after an interval, saldI have been thinking, Richard, that it is a long time since I saw myfather, and I have made up my mind to go down to-morrow and returnin a day or two, and you can take rooms for us in the meantime.I fancied that this resolution, obviously the result of the vision whichhad so profoundly scared him, would probably vanish next momingwith the damps and shadows of night. But I was mistaken. Off w'entTom at peep of day to the country, having agreed that so soon as I hadsecured suitable lodgings, I was to recall him by letter from his visit tomy Uncle LudlowNow, anous as I was to change my quarters, it so happened, owingto a series of petty procrastinations and accidents, that nearly a weekelapsed before my bargain was made and my letter of recall on the wingto Tom; and, in the meantime, a trining adventure or two had occurredto your humble servant, which, absurd as they now appear, diminishedby distance, did certainly at the time serve to whet my appetite forA night or two after the departure of my comrade, I was sitting by mybedroom fire, the door locked, and the ingredients of a tumbler of hotwhisky-punch upon the crazy spider-table: for, as the best mode of keepBlack spirits and white,sPirits andwith which I was environed, at bay, I had adopted the practice recom-mended by the wisdom of my ancestors, and kept my spirits up bypouring spirits down. I had thrown aside my volume of Anatomy, andwas treating myself by way of a tonic, preparatory to my punch and bed,to half-a-dozen pages of the Spectator, when I heard a step on the flight ofstairs descending from the attics. It was two o clock, and the streets wereas silent as a churchyard-the sounds were, therefore, perfectly distinct.There was a slow, heavy tread, characterised by the emphasis and delib-eration of age, descending by the narrow staircase from above; and, whatmade the sound more singular, it was plain that the feet which producedit were perfectly bare, measuring the descent with something between apound and a flop, very ugly to hear
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