Unfortunately, our feelings
do not always respect the law of probabilities, and to
me that evening, the possible and the impossible
were equally disquieting.
Every one who has had experience in the matter
must have observed that one confronts the actual
and imaginary perils of the night with far less appre-
hension in the open air than in a house with an open
doorway. I felt this now as I lay on my leafy couch
in a corner of the room next to the chimney and per-
mitted my fire to die out. So strong became my
sense of the presence of something malign and men-
acing in the place, that I found myself almost un-
able to withdraw my eyes from the opening, as in
the deepening darkness it became more and more
indistinct. And when the last little flame flickered
and went out I grasped the shotgun which I had
laid at my side and actually turned the muzzle in
the direction of the now invisible entrance, my
thumb on one of the hammers, ready to cock the
piece, my breath suspended, my muscles rigid
and tense. But later I laid down the weapon
with a sense of shame and mortification. What
did I fear, and why?--I, to whom the night had
been
a more familiar face
Than that of man--
I, in whom that element of hereditary superstition
from which none of us is altogether free had given
to solitude and darkness and silence only a more
alluring interest and charm! I was unable to com-
prehend my folly, and losing in the conjecture the
thing conjectured of, I fell asleep.
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