it still appeared empty. Beyond turning his head sharply for a moment to
look round, Mr. Gaskell took no notice of the sound; and my brother,
ashamed to betray any foolish interest or excitement, continued the
_Gagliarda_, with its repeat. At its conclusion Mr. Gaskell stopped
before proceeding to the minuet, and turning the stool on which he was
sitting round towards the room, observed, "How very strange,
Johnnie,"--for these young men were on terms of sufficient intimacy to
address each other in a familiar style,--"How very strange! I thought I
heard some one sit down in that chair when we began the _Gagliarda_. I
looked round quite expecting to see some one had come in. Did you hear
nothing?"

"It was only the chair creaking," my brother answered, feigning an
indifference which he scarcely felt. "Certain parts of the wicker-work
seem to be in accord with musical notes and respond to them; let us
continue with the _Minuetto_."

Thus they finished the suite, Mr. Gaskell demanding a repetition of the
_Gagliarda_, with the air of which he was much pleased. As the clocks
had already struck eleven, they determined not to play more that night;
and Mr. Gaskell rose, blew out the sconces, shut the piano, and put the
music aside. My brother has often assured me that he was quite prepared
for what followed, and had been almost expecting it; for as the books
were put away, a creaking of the wicker chair was audible, exactly
similar to that which he had heard when he stopped playing on the
previous night. There was a moment's silence; the young men looked
involuntarily at one another, and then Mr. Gaskell said, "I cannot
understand the creaking of that chair; it has never done so before, with
all the music we have played. I am perhaps imaginative and excited with
the fine airs we have heard to-night, but I have an impression that I