was not going to save me. Shut in like a fox in a hole, I had little
to hope for, if they once made their appearance at the stairhead or
came upon me from any of the dim halls of the crazy old dwelling,
which I now began to find altogether too large for my comfort.
Stealing cautiously forth from the room in which I had found so much
to disconcert me, I crept towards the front staircase and listened.
All was deathly quiet. The old pine tree moaned and twisted without,
and from time to time the wind came sweeping down the chimney with an
unearthly shrieking sound that was weirdly in keeping with the place.
But within and below all was still as the tomb, and though in no ways
reassured, I determined to descend and have the suspense over at
once. I did so, pistol in hand and ears stretched to their utmost to
catch the slightest rustle, but no sound came to disturb me, nor did
I meet on this lower floor the sign of any other presence in the
house but my own. Passing hastily through what appeared to be a sort
of rude parlor, I stepped into the kitchen and tried one of the
windows. Finding I could easily lift it from the inside, I drew my
breath with ease for the first time since I had alighted among the
broken glass above, and turning back, deliberately opened the door of
the kitchen stove, and looked in. As I half expected, I found a pile
of partly charred rags, showing where the wretches had burned their
prison clothing, and proceeding further, picked up from the ashes a
ring which whether or not they were conscious of having attempted to
destroy in this way I cannot say, but which I thankfully put in my
pocket against the day it might be required as proof.

Discerning nothing more in that quarter inviting interest, I asked
myself if I had nerve to descend into the cellar. Finally concluding
that that was more than could be expected from any man in my position,
I gave one look of farewell to the damp and desolate walls about me,