ves in the corridor below again.
He dashes into this like one possessed; but, finding himself in the
light of the hanging lamp, collects himself by a violent effort, and
looks around.
Yes, all is still. No living form but his is near. The corridor, as he
glances affrightedly up and down, is empty. He can see nothing but his
own shadow, at sight of which he starts and turns pale and shudders.
The next moment he recovers himself, and, muttering an anathema upon his
cowardice, he moves noiselessly toward his room and the brandy-bottle
that has been his constant companion of late.
Yet, here in his own room, he can not rest. The hours go by with laggard
steps. Midnight has struck, and still he paces his floor from wall to
wall, half-maddened by his thoughts. Not that he relents. No feelings of
repentance stir him, there is only a nervous dread of the hour when it
will be necessary to produce the dead body, if only to prove his claim
to the title so dearly and so infamously purchased.
Is he indeed dead--gone past recall? Is this house, this place, the old
title, the chance of winning the woman he would have, all his own? Is
his hated rival--hateful to him only because of his fair face and genial
manners and lovable disposition, and the esteem with which he filled the
hearts of all who knew him--actually swept out of his path?
Again the lurking morbid longing to view the body with his own eyes,
the longing that had been his some hours ago when listening at the fatal
door, seizes hold of him, and grows in intensity with every passing
moment.
At last it conquers him. Lighting a candle, he opens his door and peers
out. No one is astir. In all probability every one is abed, and now
sleeping the sleep of the just--all except him. Will there ever be any
rest or dreamless sleep for him again?
He goes softly down-stairs, and makes his way to the lower door. Meeting
no one, he ascends the stairs like one only half conscious, until he
finds himself again before the door of the haunted chamber.
Then he wakes into sudden life. An awful terror takes possession of him.
He struggles with himself, and presently so far succeeds in regaining
some degree of composure that he can lean against the wall and wipe his
forehead, and vow to himself that he will never descend until he has
accomplished the object of his visit. But the result of this terrible
fight with fear and conscience shows itself in the increasing pallor of
his br
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