For, perhaps a minute, I stand, with my arms hanging slackly, by my sides.  The influence to meddle with the fastenings of the door, seems to have gone.  All at once, there comes the sudden rattle of iron, at my feet.  I glance down, quickly, and realize, with an unspeakable terror, that my foot is pushing back the lower bolt.  An awful sense of helplessness assails me....  The bolt comes out of its hold, with a slight, ringing sound and I stagger on my feet, grasping at the great, central bolt, for support.  A minute passes, an eternity; then another——­My God, help me!  I am being forced to work upon the last fastening. I will not! Better to die, than open to the Terror, that is on the other side of the door.  Is there no escape ...?  God help me, I have jerked the bolt half out of its socket!  My lips emit a hoarse scream of terror, the bolt is three parts drawn, now, and still my unconscious hands work toward my doom.  Only a fraction of steel, between my soul and That.  Twice, I scream out in the supreme agony of my fear; then, with a mad effort, I tear my hands away.  My eyes seem blinded.  A great blackness is falling upon me.  Nature has come to my rescue.  I feel my knees giving.  There is a loud, quick thudding upon the door, and I am falling, falling....

I must have lain there, at least a couple of hours.  As I recover, I am aware that the other candle has burnt out, and the room is in an almost total darkness.  I cannot rise to my feet, for I am cold, and filled with a terrible cramp.  Yet my brain is clear, and there is no longer the strain of that unholy influence.

Cautiously, I get upon my knees, and feel for the central bolt.  I find it, and push it securely back into its socket; then the one at the bottom of the door.  By this time, I am able to rise to my feet, and so manage to secure the fastening at the top.  After that, I go down upon my knees, again, and creep away among the furniture, in the direction of the stairs.  By doing this, I am safe from observation from the window.

I reach the opposite door, and, as I leave the study, cast one nervous glance over my shoulder, toward the window.  Out in the night, I seem to catch a glimpse of something impalpable; but it may be only a fancy.  Then, I am in the passage, and on the stairs.

Reaching my bedroom, I clamber into bed, all clothed as I am, and pull the bedclothes over me.  There, after awhile, I begin to regain a little confidence.  It is impossible to sleep; but I am grateful for the added warmth of the bedclothes.  Presently, I try to think over the happenings of the past night; but, though I cannot sleep, I find that it is useless, to attempt consecutive thought.  My brain seems curiously blank.

Toward morning, I begin to toss, uneasily.  I cannot rest, and, after awhile, I get out of bed, and pace the floor.  The wintry dawn is beginning to creep through the windows, and shows the bare discomfort of the old room.  Strange, that, through all these years, it has never occurred to me how dismal the place really is.  And so a time passes.