it a certain melancholy that was not in my natural disposition, nor,
I think, due to loneliness. I had no servants that slept in the
house, but I have always been, as you know, rather fond of my own
society, being much addicted to reading, though little to study.
Whatever was the cause, the effect was dejection and a sense of
impending evil; this was especially so in Dr. Mannering's study,
although that room was the lightest and most airy in the house. The
doctor's life-size portrait in oil hung in that room, and seemed
completely to dominate it. There was nothing unusual in the picture;
the man was evidently rather good looking, about fifty years old,
with iron-gray hair, a smooth-shaven face and dark, serious eyes.
Something in the picture always drew and held my attention. The
man's appearance became familiar to me, and rather 'haunted' me.

"One evening I was passing through this room to my bedroom, with a
lamp--there is no gas in Meridian. I stopped as usual before the
portrait, which seemed in the lamplight to have a new expression, not
easily named, but distinctly uncanny. It interested but did not
disturb me. I moved the lamp from one side to the other and observed
the effects of the altered light. While so engaged I felt an impulse
to turn round. As I did so I saw a man moving across the room
directly toward me! As soon as he came near enough for the lamplight
to illuminate the face I saw that it was Dr. Mannering himself; it
was as if the portrait were walking!

"'I beg your pardon,' I said, somewhat coldly, 'but if you knocked I
did not hear.'

"He passed me, within an arm's length, lifted his right forefinger,
as in warning, and without a word went on out of the room, though I