down a short flight of steps, into a room large, somewhat low in
ceiling, and, with the exception of the hole, most comfortably
appointed. It felt warm, rather too warm, and he did not replenish
the fire, preferring to let it go out. The room and the way to it
were both very familiar to him, and, like John, he enjoyed the hole:
staring at it made you sleep, and when not sleeping your fancy could
play round it to any extent. On this night the light of the moon,
shining in at the shutterless windows of the empty room above, fell
across its floor, and gleamed down through the opening.

A superstitious person with a talent for being eerie would have had
nice scope for being frightened out of his senses in a situation
like this--alone in a distant room of an old castle where bells rang
mysteriously, and with borrowed moonlight peering down from above
like a ghost looking for ghosts. But Mr. Forrester was not
superstitious--not in the least. He feared nothing material or
immaterial except--and it was a curious exception--except Bessie
Ormiston; yet it is true he loved her, perfectly as he thought, but
there was a flaw somewhere: it was not the perfect love that casteth
out fear. The turning of a straw, however, might make it that, but
who was to turn the straw? He feared to do it, and she would not.
Notwithstanding these perturbed and cantankerous circumstances, these
two people, being young and naturally sleepy, slept.

How long he had been sleeping Edwin did not know, when he awoke
suddenly, as if he had been startled by some noise. However, he might
have been dreaming: he did not know. The fire was thoroughly out
and black, there was no ray of light from the roof, and the
window-curtains being closely drawn, if there was any light outside it
was effectually shut out: the room was as dark as midnight.