The house-clock was striking twelve as the Colonel awoke. He awoke suddenly from a sound sleep, flashing, as it were, into full consciousness, his mind and memory clear, all his faculties invigorated, his ideas undisturbed, but with a perfect conviction that he was not alone.
He lifted his head. A man was standing a few feet from the bed, and between it and the fire, which was still burning, and burning brightly enough to display every object in the room, and to define the outline of the intruder clearly. His dress also and his features were plainly distinguishable: the dress was a travelling-costume, in fashion somewhat out of date; the features wore a mournful and distressed expression—the eyes were fixed upon the Colonel. The right arm hung down, and the hand, partially concealed, might, for aught the Colonel knew, be grasping one of his own revolvers; the left arm was folded against the waist. The man seemed about to advance still closer to the bed, and returned the occupant’s gaze with a fixed stare.
“Stand, or I’ll fire!” cried the Colonel, taking in all this at a glance, and starting up in his bed, revolver in hand.
The man remained still.
“What is your business here?” demanded the statesman, thinking he was addressing one of the roughs from below.
The man was silent.
“Leave this room, if you value your life,” shouted the indignant soldier, pointing his revolver.
The man was motionless.
“Retire! or by heaven I’ll send a bullet through you!”
But the man moved not an inch.