Dinner passed unheeded, and
still he paced the silent chamber. With the approach of evening his
terrors increased; he rang for a servant and had the gas-burners
lighted. Still, in all the blaze, shapes would haunt him; they crouched
at the foot of his bed; they lurked behind his wardrobe-door. He dared
not look over his shoulder, but forced himself to stand up and face
what he so dreaded to see. He rang again and bade the servant bring
a screw-driver and take down the coat-hooks from the wardrobe; the
garments hanging there seemed to be men struggling in the agonies of
asphyxia. The slender thread of sound from the gas-burners seemed to be
changed to low, mournful cries, as of a woman over the dead. He turned
the gas down a little; then the shadows of the cannel-coal fire danced
like spectres on the ceiling. He jumped up and raised the lights again;
again the low, dismal monotone sang in his ears. He stopped them with
his fingers; again the persistent voice asked, "Why didn't you come
down?" Flakes fell off the coal in the grate in shapes like coffins;
the flames seemed to dart at him with their fiery tongues. He rang once
more, and when the servant came he bade him drink enough strong tea and
then take his chair by the fire.
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