ere was no monster standing on the
staircase; and as the detested sound ceased, I was reassured enough to
venture forward nearly to the banisters. Horror of horrors! within a
stair or two beneath the spot where I stood the unearthly tread smote
the floor. My eye caught something in motion; it was about the size of
Goliah's foot--it was grey, heavy, and flapped with a dead weight from
one step to another. As I am alive, it was the most monstrous grey rat I
ever beheld or imagined.

Shakespeare says--"Some men there are cannot abide a gaping pig, and
some that are mad if they behold a cat." I went well-nigh out of my wits
when I beheld this _rat_; for, laugh at me as you may, it fixed upon me,
I thought, a perfectly human expression of malice; and, as it shuffled
about and looked up into my face almost from between my feet, I saw, I
could swear it--I felt it then, and know it now, the infernal gaze and
the accursed countenance of my old friend in the portrait, transfused
into the visage of the bloated vermin before me.

I bounced into my room again with a feeling of loathing and horror I
cannot describe, and locked and bolted my door as if a lion had been at
the other side. D--n him or _it_; curse the portrait and its original! I
felt in my soul that the rat--yes, the _rat_, the RAT I had just seen,
was that evil being in masquerade, and rambling through the house upon
some infernal night lark.

Next morning I was early trudging through the miry streets; and, among
other transactions, posted a peremptory note recalling Tom. On my
return, however, I found a note from my absent "chum," announcing his
intended return next day. I was doubly rejoiced at this, because I had
succeeded in getting rooms; and because the change of scene and return
of my comrade were rendered specially pleasant by the last night's half
ridiculous half horrible adventure.

I slept extemporaneously in my new quarters in Digges' Street that
night, and next morning returned for breakfast to the haunted mansion,
where I was certain Tom would call immediately on his arrival.

I was quite right--he came; and almost his first question referred to
the primary object of our change of residence.

"Thank God," he said with genuine fervour, on hearing that all was
arranged. "On _your_ account I am delighted. As to myself, I assure you
that no earthly consideration could have induced me ever again to pass a
night in this disastrous old house."

"Confound