[BARBARA.]
I sat up in bed, and quickly lit a candle. Bob was sleeping soundly, and I saw nothing in the room to alarm me; I was quite prepared to greet once more the apparition of my faithful companion, but as the cat was not in sight I inferred that it was contented with its quarters in the basement. On a small table by Bob's side lay his revolver, ready to his hand, and even in this moment of apprehension I smiled at the idea of my friend--the most humane man in the world--possessing so murderous an instrument. I was thankful, however, that he had brought it; powerless as it would be against spectral foes it inspired me with confidence. I slid from my bed, seized the pistol, stepped to the door and listened. My movements aroused Bob, as I intended they should, and he jumped up.
"Who's there?" he cried, clapping his hand on the table. "What's the matter?"
"Hush," I said, "make no noise. Your pistol's all right; I've got it. Slip on your clothes, and come and keep watch while I get into mine. There's someone--or something--downstairs."
He was soon ready and he took his station by the door while I dressed myself.
"I don't hear anything," he said, when I joined him.
"All is quiet just now, Bob, but I was not mistaken. I am positive I heard it."
"What was it like?"
"Like somebody moving softly about, wishing not to be heard."
"Rats or mice, perhaps. I shouldn't wonder if the lower part of the house is full of them."