"Though the moon had not yet risen, there was sufficient light from the
stars for him to see his way. It was strange, he thought, how familiar
objects which he had never particularly noted before, now had a friendly
look, with the whiteness of the frost upon them. Simon walked fast, as
if to keep up both his circulation and his courage, and his step sounded
crisply upon the hard dirt road.

"When he was abreast of the house, he hesitated. The moon, mounting
above the treetops, was shining upon the windows. There was no sound, no
movement, from within. Breathless, he entered. His own footsteps echoed
and re-echoed about the bare, vault-like hall, emphasizing its
emptiness. He closed the door behind him, made a light in his lantern,
and whistling loudly to keep up his courage, entered the living-hall.
The air was damp and chilly; his breath came like smoke from his
nostrils. Setting his lantern upon the floor, he crossed to the
fireplace and tossed in fagots and logs from the supply which was still
there. The merry crackle of the burning logs, and the warmth and light
of the fire cheered him, somewhat; and he attacked the jug and the
meat-pie provided by the thoughtful landlord. Revived by the food, he
lit his pipe, and taking up his violin, commenced to play. He went over
all the tunes he knew, played them in different keys and with
variations, to while away the evening; and every time he felt his
courage deserting him he turned to his jug for moral support. As you can
guess, he did this pretty frequently until, just as he was draining the
last drop, he heard a door bang somewhere upstairs, and a rustling in
the hall above him. Almost afraid to breathe, he sat there waiting for a
recurrence of the sound. Everything was perfectly still except the
burning logs in the fireplace. After a while Simon began to fancy that
he had not really heard anything, but that his overwrought nerves were
playing a trick upon him; so he rose, tiptoed across the room and stood
back in the shadows of the great curving stairway, listening. Again he
heard sounds above him, more rustling, and footsteps this time. A chill
passed over him and the blood froze in his veins; at every fresh noise
he felt as if a million pins were pricking his scalp. But nothing
happened, and when the sounds had apparently ceased, he waited where he
was, leaning against the stairway, so paralyzed with fear that he could
not move from the spot.

"He remained thus, lis