I sat up in bed, and quickly lit a candle. Bob was sleeping soundly, and I saw nothing in the room to alarm me; I was quite prepared to greet once more the apparition of my faithful companion, but as the cat was not in sight I inferred that it was contented with its quarters in the basement. On a small table by Bob's side lay his revolver, ready to his hand, and even in this moment of apprehension I smiled at the idea of my friend--the most humane man in the world--possessing so murderous an instrument. I was thankful, however, that he had brought it; powerless as it would be against spectral foes it inspired me with confidence. I slid from my bed, seized the pistol, stepped to the door and listened. My movements aroused Bob, as I intended they should, and he jumped up. "Who's there?" he cried, clapping his hand on the table. "What's the matter?" "Hush," I said, "make no noise. Your pistol's all right; I've got it. Slip on your clothes, and come and keep watch while I get into mine. There's someone--or something--downstairs." He was soon ready and he took his station by the door while I dressed myself. "I don't hear anything," he said, when I joined him. "All is quiet just now, Bob, but I was not mistaken. I am positive I heard it." "What was it like?" "Like somebody moving softly about, wishing not to be heard." "Rats or mice, perhaps. I shouldn't wonder if the lower part of the house is full of them." I caught his arm. "Listen, Bob." With our ears close to the door, we both caught the sound of a stealthy movement below. "There it is," he whispered, and I felt his arm tremble in my grasp. A moment afterward he said, "We are trapped." "Don't lose your nerve," I responded, in as cheerful a tone as I could command; "we must see it through, now we are here. I am sorry I brought you, Bob; the next time I come, I will come alone." "Indeed you shall not, Ned," he replied, "and I am ashamed of my weakness. I was prepared for something of the sort, and here am I showing the white feather. I am all right now, old fellow." "Bravo! Take your pistol; I brought a weapon with me." It was a thick flat strip of iron, tapered at one end, which I used at home to open cases, and which, unknown to my wife, I had secreted about me. Bob nodded as I produced it. "A formidable weapon," he said, "but useless against apparitions; we may have more formidable foes to contend with, however, and it is as well to be provided. It would be foolhardy to leave the room. We should have to carry a candle, and it might be dashed from our hands; the darkness would be horrible. We are safer where we are." "We will not go out yet, Bob. The sound has ceased. Take a nip of brandy, and give me one."