I no longer shivered but shuddered--
there is a difference. The dread of some impending
calamity was so strong and dispiriting that I tried
to drive it away by inviting a real sorrow--tried to
dispel the conception of a terrible future by substi-
tuting the memory of a painful past. I recalled the
death of my parents and endeavoured to fix my
mind upon the last sad scenes at their bedsides and
their graves. It all seemed vague and unreal, as hav-
ing occurred ages ago and to another person. Sud-
denly, striking through my thought and parting it
as a tense cord is parted by the stroke of steel--I
can think of no other comparison--I heard a sharp
cry as of one in mortal agony! The voice was that of
my brother and seemed to come from the street out-
side my window. I sprang to the window and threw
it open. A street lamp directly opposite threw a
wan and ghastly light upon the wet pavement and
the fronts of the houses. A single policeman, with
upturned collar, was leaning against a gatepost,
quietly smoking a cigar. No one else was in sight.
I closed the window and pulled down the shade,
seated myself before the fire and tried to fix my mind
upon my surroundings. By way of assisting, by per-
formance of some familiar act, I looked at my watch;
it marked half-past eleven. Again I heard that aw-
ful cry! It seemed in the room--at my side. I was
frightened and for some moments had not the power
to move.
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