To my left there was movement, movement without sound. In an instant my revolver was ready, and then I felt a fool. In a recess there was a glass fixed to the wall, we had noticed it when we examined the room, and I had caught the dim reflection of my head and shoulders in it. The glass was just at that height from the floor. I went to it and called myself a fool to my reflection. I could only see myself very dimly, so I cannot say whether the incident had driven any color from my face. It had the effect of quieting my restlessness, at any rate. I returned to my chair refreshed, feeling capable of keeping a vigil, however long it might last. Almost unconsciously I began to consider how many deceptions looking-glasses were responsible for, and remembered some of the illusions I had seen at the Egyptian Hall. No doubt looking-glasses had played a large part in some of them. And then I began to wonder why the mattresses had been left upon the bed. Was the agent expecting to let the house again at once, or had they been put there for Quarles's convenience to-morrow night? How long my mind slid from one thing to another I cannot say; but gradually my ideas seemed to dwindle away into nothingness, and it is easy to imagine that I slept. I do not think I did, however. Although my mind was a blank for a time, I am convinced I never lost consciousness of that room or of the business I had in hand. There was absolutely no sensation of waking, only another sudden desire to move. Again I walked to the window, and as I came back I glanced in the direction of the glass. This time my own reflection did not startle me; not because I was ready for it, but because I did not see it. I must have crossed the room at a different angle, or my eyes-- I went to the glass, and then I started. There was no reflection. I was not in the glass. In a moment the knowledge that this room was haunted came to me in full force. There was the glass, plainer than I had seen it before, my eyes were not at fault. Indeed, as I stared into it, there was a dim outline of images in the glass, the furniture of the room, but of me no reflection at all. Was I bewitched? Surely I must be in my chair, sleeping, dreaming, for suddenly in the glass, moving as in a mist, there were shadows--a bed and a man lying on it, and bending over him was another man whose hands were twisting about his companion. I tried to call out to stop him, then I drew back, and the next moment I was at the door, speaking to Burroughs in a whisper. "What is it?" he asked, coming swiftly into the room. "Look!" and I seized him by the arm and drew him to the looking-glass. "Well, what is it?" he asked again. His reflection and mine were looking out at us, one scared face, mine; one full of questioning, his. I told him what I had seen. "You dropped off to sleep, Mr. Wigan, that's what it was."