The evening has come, and I am in my study.  I intend to follow my plan of last night, and watch the kennel.  The door, leading into the garden, is bolted, securely.  I am consciously glad there are bars to the windows....

Night:—­Midnight has gone.  The dog has been silent, up to the present.  Through the side window, on my left, I can make out, dimly, the outlines of the kennel.  For the first time, the dog moves, and I hear the rattle of his chain.  I look out, quickly.  As I stare, the dog moves again, restlessly, and I see a small patch of luminous light, shine from the interior of the kennel.  It vanishes; then the dog stirs again, and, once more, the gleam comes.  I am puzzled.  The dog is quiet, and I can see the luminous thing, plainly.  It shows distinctly.  There is something familiar about the shape of it.  For a moment, I wonder; then it comes to me, that it is not unlike the four fingers and thumb of a hand.  Like a hand!  And I remember the contour of that fearsome wound on the dog’s side.  It must be the wound I see.  It is luminous at night—­Why?  The minutes pass.  My mind is filled with this fresh thing....

Suddenly, I hear a sound, out in the gardens.  How it thrills through me.  It is approaching.  Pad, pad, pad.  A prickly sensation traverses my spine, and seems to creep across my scalp.  The dog moves in his kennel, and whimpers, frightenedly.  He must have turned ’round; for, now, I can no longer see the outline of his shining wound.

Outside, the gardens are silent, once more, and I listen, fearfully.  A minute passes, and another; then I hear the padding sound, again.  It is quite close, and appears to be coming down the graveled path.  The noise is curiously measured and deliberate.  It ceases outside the door; and I rise to my feet, and stand motionless.  From the door, comes a slight sound—­the latch is being slowly raised.  A singing noise is in my ears, and I have a sense of pressure about the head—­

The latch drops, with a sharp click, into the catch.  The noise startles me afresh; jarring, horribly, on my tense nerves.  After that, I stand, for a long while, amid an ever-growing quietness.  All at once, my knees begin to tremble, and I have to sit, quickly.

An uncertain period of time passes, and, gradually, I begin to shake off the feeling of terror, that has possessed me.  Yet, still I sit.  I seem to have lost the power of movement.  I am strangely tired, and inclined to doze.  My eyes open and close, and, presently, I find myself falling asleep, and waking, in fits and starts.

It is some time later, that I am sleepily aware that one of the candles is guttering.  When I wake again, it has gone out, and the room is very dim, under the light of the one remaining flame.  The semi-darkness troubles me little.  I have lost that awful sense of dread, and my only desire seems to be to sleep—­sleep.

Suddenly, although there is no noise, I am awake—­wide awake.  I am acutely conscious of the nearness of some mystery, of some overwhelming Presence.  The very air seems pregnant with terror.  I sit huddled, and just listen, intently.  Still, there is no sound.  Nature, herself, seems dead.  Then, the oppressive stillness is broken by a little eldritch scream of wind, that sweeps ’round the house, and dies away, remotely.