He descended into the kitchen,--that kitchen which no domestic occupied, and the hearth of which so seldom sparkled or shone with blazing coal or wood,--a cursed hearth which, even in the very midst of summer, seemed cheerless and cold! The area that gave light to the kitchen-window was strongly barred over: the window itself was likewise barred;--and the door opening into the area was well secured with bolts and chains. All these multiplied precautions were duly inspected by the miser. Forgotten now was the image of Perdita:--gold--gold--_his_ gold,--this was the one absorbing idea! No--not the only _one_: for with the thought of possessing gold is ever associated the dread of losing it;--and at this moment the man’s mind was a prey to vague fears--undefined alarms--gloomy misgivings. He did not like that noise which he had heard:--it haunted him like a spectre;--it was something that weighed upon his soul like lead. He felt--he knew that he was really _alone_ in that house,--aye, and that the house was lonely in situation likewise: for he could not count for aid, in case of need, on the elderly widow next door and her two or three poor female lodgers. Thus, the fact that there _was_ a house adjoining did not detract from the sense of utter loneliness awakened in his mind respecting his own abode. But were not the bolts secure--the chains fastened--the bars all firm and strong? Oh! he had not spared his money to obtain the best iron and the best work when those precautions were adopted: and, since he had become a miser, he had never paid a bill so cheerfully as that which the defences of his dwelling had incurred. Yes:--the bolts _were_ secure--the chains _were_ well fastened--and the bars _were_ all firm and strong;--and yet Percival was not at ease in his mind. That unknown, unaccountable noise had alarmed him. It was a noise the nature of which he could scarcely explain to himself,--nor whether it had occurred inside or outside the house: no--nor whether it were the creaking of timber--or the shaking of the shutters--or the sound of a human voice speaking low, hoarse, and in a disguised tone. Having convinced himself that all was secure in the kitchen and the little scullery at the back, Percival once more ascended to his back parlour. He looked at his watch, and found it was half an hour past midnight:--still he felt no inclination to sleep! Vague and oppressive fears continued to haunt him;--and the more he essayed to wrestle with his reflections, the more intolerable did they become,--till at last horrible ideas were forced upon his imagination,--of how misers had been murdered for their gold--how their blood had been poured out even on the very treasure-chests to which they clung with desperate tenacity while the blows of the assassins rained down upon their heads!