146 A Night at Venice. . [Aveusr, 
stranger, when my attention was arrested by an admonitory kick from 
my nervous fellow-martyr, who had now no other instrument left to him. 
After this piece of counsel, we followed the spirit, and paced along one 
or two passages, and, I think, descended a flight of stairs, when, on a sud- 
den, the dusky cavalcade stopped at a door numbered—(good genius! 
how had I courage to read !)—numbered 26. It was opened by the sha- 
dowy thing in a chemise, and courteously thrown back, till her two 
silent companions were fairly withinit. Then, putting down her lamp, 
she closed and locked the door, took out the key, and arranging a couple 
of chairs, indicated to us that they were to be occupied by ourselves. We 
mutely sat down, and the mysterious personage, as if satisfied by our 
obedience, drew aside the curtain of a large bed that almost filled the 
room, and without more ado, getting between the bed-clothes, withdrew 
herself from our sight, by closing the curtain as before. 
We were left in a very considerable dilemma. Sitting side by side in 
a strange apartment, ourselves strangers, and in a costume not much 
adapted to an introductory interview, two more perplexed men did not 
exist. What could this goblin be? Or was it no goblin, but a mere 
imagination. I gently smacked my cheek, but no mosquito was there. 
Then whatever it might be, how were we to escape? We stared at each 
otherin mute dismay, and I suppose I must have looked like an especial fool, 
if my companion’s countenance bore any likeness to my own. We were 
oscillating between the absurdity and the suspense of our situation, and 
though we dared not move or talk, or even breathe stoutly, we could not 
but smile at the idea, that heroes of such a romance should be sans= 
culottes. The state was not one to be long endured. No sound dis- 
turbed the quiet of that sanctuary into which the spirit had entered. 
Occasionally, indeed, a stirring, as of mortal breathing, or a displaced 
coverlid, awed us into good behaviour, and checked our plans for self- 
emancipation. But for the most part, all was still and awful as a church- 
yard. We looked at each other wistfully, and at last one had the courage 
to incline his head towards effecting a closer neighbourhood. This was 
followed by sundry indistinct sounds—the attempt to dwindle a whisper 
down to its lowest possible minuteness, and these ventures being made 
with impunity, four distinct syllables were at length out-breathed :— 
« What shall we do?” 
This effort was succeeded by a “ hush!” and a long pause ; but our 
little tricks being innocent or unnoticed, we took the heart to commune 
still farther on the subject. 
“Is she a ghost?” 
“ Can’t be, sure.” 
«* Did you see her face ?” 
« No.” 
«« What do you think of her ?” 
«* What do you ?” 
This question was tormenting. It could not be answered in a word, 
and we had not many to throw away. The next matter of doubt was 
considered. 
« Do we stay here all night?” 
“ T hope not.” 
“ But how get away?” 
“ Is the door fast ?’’ ade 
“ She has the key.” 
