This was a deep recess by the fireplace, fenced on the
other side by a great old escritoir. Into this I drew a stool, and, with
candle and book, I placed myself snugly in the narrow chamber. Every now
and then I raised my eyes and saw my father either writing or ruminating,
as it seemed to me, very anxiously at his desk.
Time wore on--a longer time than he had intended, and still he continued
absorbed at his desk. Gradually I grew sleepy, and as I nodded, the book
and room faded away, and pleasant little dreams began to gather round me,
and so I went off into a deep slumber.
It must have lasted long, for when I wakened my candle had burnt out; my
father, having quite forgotten me, was gone, and the room was dark and
deserted. I felt cold and a little stiff, and for some seconds did not know
where I was.
I had been wakened, I suppose, by a sound which I now distinctly heard, to
my great terror, approaching. There was a rustling; there was a breathing.
I heard a creaking upon the plank that always creaked when walked upon in
the passage. I held my breath and listened, and coiled myself up in the
innermost recess of my little chamber.
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