It was no effect of prudence, merely the fascination of killing fear it
was, that drove him to open the door. One step brought him to the head of
the stairs: he lowered his head over the balustrade in order to listen;
and at that moment ascended, from the little parlor, this agonizing cry
from the woman-servant, 'Lord Jesus Christ! we shall all be murdered!'
What a Medusa's head must have lurked in those dreadful bloodless
features, and those glazed rigid eyes, that seemed rightfully belonging to
a corpse, when one glance at them sufficed to proclaim a death-warrant.
Three separate death-struggles were by this time over; and the poor
petrified journeyman, quite unconscious of what he was doing, in blind,
passive, self-surrender to panic, absolutely descended both flights of
stairs. Infinite terror inspired him with the same impulse as might have
been inspired by headlong courage. In his shirt, and upon old decaying
stairs, that at times creaked under his feet, he continued to descend,
until he had reached the lowest step but four. The situation was
tremendous beyond any that is on record. A sneeze, a cough, almost a
breathing, and the young man would be a corpse, without a chance or a
struggle for his life. The murderer was at that time in the little parlor
--the door of which parlor faced you in descending the stairs; and this
door stood ajar; indeed, much more considerably open than what is
understood by the term 'ajar.
Pages:
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58