grimly painted portrait of her poor dear man, which had been hung
against the wall. She gave a heavy sigh to his memory, as she was
accustomed to do, whenever she spoke of him in company; and went on
adjusting her nightdress. Her sigh was re-echoed; or answered by a
long-drawn breath. She looked round again, but no one was to be seen.
She ascribed these sounds to the wind, oozing through the rat holes of
the old mansion; and proceeded leisurely to put her hair in papers,
when, all at once, she thought she perceived one of the eyes of the
portrait move.

"The back of her head being towards it!" said the story-teller with the
ruined head, giving a knowing wink on the sound side of his
visage--"good!"

"Yes, sir!" replied drily the narrator, "her back being towards the
portrait, but her eye fixed on its reflection in the glass."

Well, as I was saying, she perceived one of the eyes of the portrait
move. So strange a circumstance, as you may well suppose, gave her a
sudden shock. To assure herself cautiously of the fact, she put one
hand to her forehead, as if rubbing it; peeped through her fingers, and
moved the candle with the other hand. The light of the taper gleamed on
the eye, and was reflected from it. She was sure it moved. Nay, more,
it seemed to give her a wink, as she had sometimes known her husband to
do when living! It struck a momentary chill to her heart; for she was a
lone woman, and felt herself fearfully situated.

The chill was but transient. My aunt, who was almost as resolute a
personage as your uncle, sir, (turning to the old story-teller,) became
instantly calm and collected. She went on adjusting her dress. She even