inctively dreading
to enter, and then went in, followed by my friend, who closed the door
behind us. The heavy hinges creaked, the door shut into the jambs with a
solid thud, the lock sprang into place with a sharp click, and a noise
like the clanging of a prison gate resounded and re-echoed through the
corridor and through the spacious studio. I felt as if we were shut in
from the whole world.

Lighting all the candles at hand and stirring up the fire, we endeavored
to make the studio look cheerful, and neither of us being inclined to go
to bed, we sat for a long time talking and smoking. But even the bright
fire and the soothing tobacco smoke did not wholly dispel the gloom of
the place, and when we finally carried the candles into the bedroom, I
felt a vague sense of dismal anticipation and apprehension. We left both
doors open, so that the light from our room streamed across the corner
of the sitting-room, and threw a great square of strong reflection on
the studio carpet. While undressing, I found that I had left my
match-box on the studio table, and thought I would return for it. I
remember now what a mental struggle I went through before I made up my
mind to go without a candle. I glanced at my friend's face, partly to
see if he noticed any indication of nervousness in my expression, and
partly because I was conscious of a kind of psychological sympathy
between us. But fear that he would laugh at me made me effectually
conceal my feelings, and I went out of the room without speaking. As I
walked across the non-resonant, carpeted stone floor I had the most
curious set of sensations I have ever experienced. At nearly every step
I took I came into a different stratum or perpendicular layer of air.
First it was cool to my face, then warm, then chill again, and again
warm. Thinking to calm my nervous excitement, I stood still and looked
around me. The great window above my head dimly transmitted the sky
reflection, but threw little light into the studio. The folds of the
curtain over the open space above the sitting-room appeared to wave
slightly in the uncertain light, and the easels and lay-figure stood
gaunt and ghostly along the further wall. I waited there and reasoned
with myself, arguing that there was no possible cause for fear, that a
strong man ought to control his nerves, that it was silly at my time of
life to begin to be afraid of the dark, but I could not get rid of the
sensation. As I went back to the b