This confirmation of my fears did not surprise me so
much as it shocked me. I strove to cry aloud, but could not utter
a word. The chain rattled again, and this time the noise was
louder and clearer. But though I strained my eyes, they could not
penetrate the obscurity that shrouded the other end of the chamber
whence came the sullen clanking. In a moment several distinct
trains of thought, like many-colored strands of thread twining into
one, became palpable to my mental vision. Was it a robber? Could
it be a supernatural visitant? Or was I the victim of a cruel
trick, such as I had heard of, and which some thoughtless persons
love to practice on the timid, reckless of its dangerous results?
And then a new idea, with some ray of comfort in it, suggested
itself. There was a fine young dog of the Newfoundland breed, a
favorite of my father's, which was usually chained by night in an
outhouse. Neptune might have broken loose, found his way to my
room, and, finding the door imperfectly closed, have pushed it open
and entered. I breathed more freely as this harmless
interpretation of the noise forced itself upon me.
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