a draft, and the fire flickering, kept the shadows and penumbra

perpetually shifting and stirring in a noiseless flighty dance. Casting

about for a remedy, I recalled the wax candles I had seen in the

corridor, and, with a slight effort, carrying a candle and leaving the

door open, I walked out into the moonlight, and presently returned with

as many as ten. These I put in the various knick-knacks of china with

which the room was sparsely adorned, and lit and placed them where

the shadows had lain deepest, some on the floor, some in the window

recesses, arranging and rearranging them until at last my seventeen

candles were so placed that not an inch of the room but had the direct

light of at least one of them. It occurred to me that when the ghost

came I could warn him not to trip over them. The room was now quite

brightly illuminated. There was something very cheering and reassuring

in these little silent streaming flames, and to notice their steady

diminution of length offered me an occupation and gave me a reassuring

sense of the passage of time.

Even with that, however, the brooding expectation of the vigil weighed

heavily enough upon me. I stood watching the minute hand of my watch

creep towards midnight.

Then something happened in the alcove. I did not see the candle go out,

I simply turned and saw that the darkness was there, as one might start

and see the unexpected presence of a stranger. The black shadow had

sprung back to its place. "By Jove," said I aloud, recovering from my

surprise, "that draft's a strong one;" and taking the matchbox from^he

The Red Room