The house is too well known for me to attempt a minute description of it. The illustrations which have appeared in all the papers have already acquainted the general public with its simple facade and rows upon rows of shuttered windows. Even the great square porch with its bench for negro attendants has been photographed for the million. Those who have seen the picture in which the wedding-guests are shown flying from its yawning doorway, will not be especially interested in the quiet, almost solemn aspect it presented as I passed up the low steps and laid my hand upon the knob of the old-fashioned front door. Not that I expected to win an entrance thereby, but because it is my nature to approach everything in a common-sense way. Conceive then my astonishment when at the first touch the door yielded. It was not even latched. “So! so!” thought I. “This is no fool’s job; some one _is_ in the house.” I had provided myself with an ordinary pocket-lantern, and, when I had convinced Hibbard that I fully meant to enter the house and discover for myself who had taken advantage of the popular prejudice against it to make a secret refuge or rendezvous of its decayed old rooms, I took out this lantern and held it in readiness. “We may strike a hornets’ nest,” I explained to Hibbard, whose feet seemed very heavy even for a man of his size. “But I’m going in and so are you. Only, let me suggest that we first take off our shoes. We can hide them in these bushes.” “I always catch cold when I walk barefooted,” mumbled my brave companion; but receiving no reply he drew off his shoes and dropped them beside mine in the cluster of stark bushes which figure so prominently in the illustrations that I have just mentioned. Then he took out his revolver, and cocking it, stood waiting, while I gave a cautious push to the door. Darkness! silence! Rather had I confronted a light and heard some noise, even if it had been the ominous click to which eve are so well accustomed. Hibbard seemed to share my feelings, though from an entirely different cause. “Pistols and lanterns are no good here,” he grumbled. “What we want at this blessed minute is a priest with a sprinkling of holy water; and I for one—” He was actually sliding off. With a smothered oath I drew him back. “See here!” I cried, “you’re not a babe in arms. Come on or— Well, what now?” He had clenched my arm and was pointing to the door which was slowly swaying to behind us. “Notice that,” he whispered. “No key in the lock! Men use keys but—” My patience could stand no more. With a shake I rid myself of his clutch, muttering: “There, go! You’re too much of a fool for me. I’m in for it alone.” And in proof of my determination, I turned the slide of the lantern and flashed the light through the house.