For a few days after Mary’s departure we slept in peace; but then the question of the mysterious footsteps assumed a graver aspect, for my wife and I were roused from deep slumber one night by a loud knock upon the bedroom door, and springing up to answer it, I encountered, on the threshold, Dawson, pale with fright, and trembling in every limb. ‘What do you mean by alarming your mistress in this way?’ I inquired, angrily. ‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ he replied, with chattering teeth, ‘but I thought it my duty to let you know. There’s some one in the house to-night, sir. I can hear them whispering together at this moment; and so can you, if you will but listen.’ I advanced at once to the banisters, and certainly heard what seemed to be the sound of distant voices engaged in altercation; and, light in hand, followed by Dawson, I dashed down the staircase without further ceremony, in hopes of trapping the intruders. But all in vain. Though we entered every room in turn, not a soul was visible. I came to the conclusion that the whole alarm was due to Dawson’s cowardice. ‘You contemptible fool, you are as chicken-hearted as a woman!’ I said, contemptuously. ‘You hear the frogs croaking in the mere, or the wind blowing through the rushes, and you immediately conclude the house is full of thieves.’ ‘I didn’t say it was thieves,’ the man interposed, sullenly; but I took no notice of the muttered remark. ‘If you are afraid to sleep downstairs by yourself,’ I continued, ‘say so; but don’t come alarming your mistress again, in the middle of the night, for I won’t allow it.’ The man slunk back into his room, with a reiteration that he had not been mistaken; and I returned to bed, full of complaints at having been so unnecessarily roused. ‘If this kind of thing goes on,’ I remarked to my wife, ‘I shall regret ever having set eyes on Rushmere. That a pack of silly maid-servants should see a robber in every bush is only to be expected; but how a sensible man like Dawson, and a woman of education like yourself, can permit your imagination to betray you into such foolish fears, is quite past my comprehension.’ Yet, notwithstanding my dose of philosophy, poor Jane looked so pale upon the following morning, that I was fain to devise and carry into execution a little excursion into the neighbouring country before she regained her usual composure. Some time passed without any further disturbance, and though upon several occasions I blamed myself for having brought a family, used to a populous city like London, to vegetate in so isolated a spot as Rushmere, I had almost forgotten the circumstances that had so much annoyed me.