When I had gazed long enough to assure myself that no strange object was within sight, 'I have been too much of a rake lately; I am racking out my nerves,' said I, speaking aloud, with a view to reassure myself.
I rang the bell, and, attended by old Martha, I retired to settle for the night.
While the servant was—as was her custom—arranging the lamp which I have already stated always burned during the night in my chamber, I was employed in undressing, and, in doing so, I had recourse to a large looking-glass which occupied a considerable portion of the wall in which it was fixed, rising from the ground to a height of about six feet—this mirror filled the space of a large panel in the wainscoting opposite the foot of the bed.
I had hardly been before it for the lapse of a minute when something like a black pall was slowly waved between me and it.
'Oh, God! there it is,' I exclaimed, wildly. 'I have seen it again, Martha—the black cloth.'
'God be merciful to us, then!' answered she, tremulously crossing herself. 'Some misfortune is over us.'
'No, no, Martha,' said I, almost instantly recovering my collectedness; for, although of a nervous temperament, I had never been superstitious. 'I do not believe in omens. You know I saw, or fancied I saw, this thing before, and nothing followed.'
'The Dutch lady came the next morning,' replied she.
'But surely her coming scarcely deserved such a dreadful warning,' I replied.
'She is a strange woman, my lady,' said Martha; 'and she is not GONE yet—mark my words.'