the parted lips slowly dropping further and further away from
each other--with the features growing larger and moving closer,
till they seemed to fill the window, and to silence the rain, and
to shut out the night.

The sound of a voice shouting below stairs woke him suddenly from
the dream of his own distempered fancy. He recognized it as the
voice of the landlord.

"Shut up at twelve, Ben," he heard it say. "I'm off to bed."

He wiped away the damp that had gathered on his forehead,
reasoned with himself for a little while, and resolved to shake
his mind free of the ghastly counterfeit which still clung to it
by forcing himself to confront, if it was only for a moment, the
solemn reality. Without allowing himself an instant to hesitate,
he parted the curtains at the foot of the bed, and looked
through.

There was the sad, peaceful, white face, with the awful mystery
of stillness on it, laid back upon the pillow. No stir, no change
there! He only looked at it for a moment before he closed the
curtains again, but that moment steadied him, calmed him,
restored him--mind and body--to himself. He returned to his old
occupation of walking up and down the room, persevering in it
this time till the clock struck again.

Twelve.

As the sound of the clock-bell died away, it was succeeded by the