indefinable terror of something which I cannot name, and I hastily took
refuge in the dim circle of light and looked behind me with a shudder
to see whether anything had followed me from out of those dark corners.
Finally the flames died away entirely, and I was really afraid; aunt
Bertha sat motionless upon her chair, and although I felt that her eyes
were upon me I was not reassured. The very chairs, the chairs ranged
about the room, began to disquiet me because their long shadows, that
stretched behind them exaggerating the height of ceiling and length
of wall, moved restlessly like souls in the agonies of death. And
especially there was a half-open door that led into a very dark hall,
which in its turn opened into a large empty parlor absolutely dark. Oh!
with what intensity I fixed my eyes upon that door to which I would not
for the world have turned my back!

This was the beginning of those daily winter-evening terrors which in
that beloved home cast such a gloom over my childhood.

What I feared to see enter that door had no well defined form, but
the fear was none the less definite to me: and it kept me standing
motionless near the dead fire with wide open eyes and fluttering heart.
When my mother suddenly entered the room by a different door, oh! how
I clung to her and covered my face with her dress: it was a supreme
protection, the sanctuary where no harm could reach me, the harbor of
harbors where the storm is forgotten. . . .

At this instant the thread of recollection breaks, I can follow it no
farther.