my sudden movement, and immediately the two remaining candles followed.

But there was light still in the room, a red light, that streamed across

the ceiling and staved off the shadows from me. The fire! Of course I

could still thrust my candle between the bars and relight it.

I turned to where the flames were still dancing between the glowing

coals and splashing red reflections upon the furniture; made two steps

toward the grate, and incontinently the flames dwindled and vanished,

the glow vanished, the reflections rushed together and disappeared, and

as I thrust the candle between the bars darkness closed upon me like the

shutting of an eye, wrapped about me in a stifling embrace, sealed my

vision, and crushed the last vestiges of self-possession from my brain.

And it was not only palpable darkness, but intolerable terror. The

candle fell from my hands. I flung out my arms in a vain effort to

thrust that ponderous blackness away from me, and lifting up my voice,

screamed with all my might, once, twice, thrice. Then I think I must

have staggered to my feet. I know I thought suddenly of the moonlit

corridor, and with my head bowed and my arms over my face, made a

stumbling run for the door.

But I had forgotten the exact position of the door, and I struck myself

heavily against the corner of the bed. I staggered back, turned, and was

either struck or struck myself against some other bulky furnishing. I

have a vague memory of battering myself thus to and fro in the darkness,

of a heavy blow at last upon my forehead, of a horrible sensation

of falling that lasted an age, of my last frantic effort to keep my

The Red Room