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