The room was long and narrow, running the whole length of the house, with a window at each end.  The blackened plaster was dropping from the walls and ceiling, exposing in some places the heavy beams, and the floor was dark and discolored with age and dust, although quite firm to the tread.  By a low door I passed into a small room lighted by two windows—­one in front, the other at the end of the house, and presenting the same appearance of desolate decay.  There were four doors in this room—­the one through which I had just entered, another leading to the rooms above, a third, secured by a bolt, which I did not then open, and a fourth leading into a narrow passage, in which was the locked front door.  I crossed this passage, and found myself in a room of the same size as the one I had just left.  It was that into which I had attempted to look from the outside.  Here I missed the dog, who had hitherto followed me, though with seeming reluctance, and no persuasion could induce him to cross the threshold.  This room was in rather better repair than were the other two.  There was the same high mantelpiece, rather less narrow, and the same little cupboard let into the massive chimney.  The floor was less discolored, but there was a deep burnt spot on it near the fireplace, as if some one had dropped a shovelful of hot coals, or rather as if some corrosive fluid had been spilled.  I remained here a few moments, idly wondering what might have been the history of the former tenants, and what could have induced any one to build a house in a spot so bleak and exposed, where scarcely a pretence of soil offered itself for a garden.  As I stood there, a singular impression came upon me that I was not alone.  For a moment, and a moment only, I became conscious of another presence in the room.  The impression passed as suddenly as it had come, but, transient as it was, it awoke me from my reverie.  Smiling at myself for the fancy, I recrossed the passage and ascended the steep, narrow winding stairs to the chambers above.  There were four small rooms, opening one into the other, with a closet partitioned off in each, and so low that in the highest part a tall man could but just have stood upright.  Here the ruin was farther advanced.  The floor creaked under my foot, the plaster had nearly all fallen from the ceiling and was peeling from the walls, while deep stains on the remaining portion showed that the rain and thawing snow had made their way through the roof.  The place had a lonesome, forlorn look, even more than usually belongs to a deserted house, though such might not have been its aspect to other than my unaccustomed Western eyes.