lowed the light, and my servant followed me. It entered, to the
right of the landing, a small garret, of which the door stood open. I
entered in the same instant. The light then collapsed into a small
globule, exceedingly brilliant and vivid, rested a moment on a bed in
the corner, quivered, and vanished. We approached the bed and examined
it,--a half-tester, such as is commonly found in attics devoted to
servants. On the drawers that stood near it we perceived an old faded
silk kerchief, with the needle still left in a rent half repaired. The
kerchief was covered with dust; probably it had belonged to the old
woman who had last died in that house, and this might have been her
sleeping-room. I had sufficient curiosity to open the drawers: there
were a few odds and ends of female dress, and two letters tied round
with a narrow ribbon of faded yellow. I took the liberty to possess
myself of the letters. We found nothing else in the room worth
noticing,--nor did the light reappear; but we distinctly heard, as we
turned to go, a pattering footfall on the floor, just before us. We
went through the other attics (in all four), the footfall still
preceding us. Nothing to be seen,--nothing but the footfall heard. I
had the letters in my hand; just as I was descending the stairs I
distinctly felt my wrist seized, and a faint, soft effort made to draw
the letters from my clasp. I only held them the more tightly, and the
effort ceased.

We regained the bedchamber appropriated to myself, and I then remarked
that my dog had not followed us when we had left it. He was thrusting
himself close to the fire, and trembling. I was impatient to examine
the letters; and while I read them, my servant opened a little box in
which he had deposited the weapons I had ordered him to bring, took
them out, placed them on a table close at my bed-head, and then
occupied himself in soothing the dog, who, however, seemed to heed him
very little.

The letters were short,--they were dated; the dates exactly
thirty-five years ago. They were evidently from a lover to his
mistress, or a husband to some young wife. Not only the terms of
expression, but a distinct reference to a former voyage, indicated the
writer to have been a seafarer. The spelling and handwriting were
those of a man imperfectly educated, but still the language itself was
forcible. In the expressions of endearment there was a kind of rough,
wild love; but here and there were dark unintelli