My eyes are fast becoming accustomed to this obscurity. _Happy Thought._--There are no such things as ghosts. On the whole, I'd rather meet a ghost, than a rat, or a blackbeetle, or a burglar. The diminishing scale, of what I would rather _not_ meet in a narrow staircase at night, is, the burglar, rat, blackbeetle, ghost. I hear something moving... below or above... I look cautiously back round the last corner... Nothing. _Happy Thought._--To shout out, "Hi! you fellows!" Shouting would frighten a burglar, or a rat, but would have no effect on a blackbeetle, or a ghost. No answer. I descend a few more steps. Something seems to be coming down behind me. Almost in my footsteps, and at my pace. Ah! of course, echo. But why wasn't there an echo when I shouted?... I will go on quicker. I'm not a bit nervous, only the sooner I'm out of this, the better. At last a door. Thick, solid, iron-barred, and nail-studded door. Where's the handle? None. Yes, an iron knob. It won't be turned. It won't be twisted. It's locked; or, if not, fastened somehow. No; a faint light is admitted through the keyhole, and by putting my eye to it, I can see a stone passage on the other side. Perhaps the old woman has locked this by accident. And perhaps they are not far off. I shake it. A deep, low savage growl follows this, and I hear within two inches of my toes, a series of jerky and inquisitive sniffs. The sniffs say, as it were, "There's no doubt about it, I know you're there;" the growl adds, "Show yourself, and I pin you." _Happy Thought._--Go upstairs again and return by the other door. Hope nobody, while I am mounting the steps again, will open the door and let the dog up here for a run, or to "see who it is," in a professional way. No. Up--up--up. Excelsior. I seem to be climbing double the number of steps, in going up, to what I did in coming down. My eyes too, after the keyhole, have not yet become re-accustomed to the light. I pause. I could almost swear that somebody, two steps lower down behind me, stopped at the same instant. Is there anyone playing the fool? Is it Milburd? I'll chance it, and ask. I say, "Milburd?" cautiously. No. Not a sound. I own to being a little nervous. Someone--Boodels, I think--once said that fine natures were always nervous. _Happy Thought._--When nervous, reason with yourself quietly.