i6 PROFESSOR OWEN CH. i- 
It was late in November, and a storm was rising, 
obscuring the light of a full moon, which now and 
then burst from between the clouds. I entered 
the gloomy arch of the old gateway tower, let fall 
the ponderous knocker, and, having been recon- 
noitred through a small grating, was admitted. 
The old turnkey, being apprised of my business, 
offered to accompany the “young doctor” — in 
which title I already rejoiced — to the hospital tower. 
But as my seniors were accustomed to dispense 
with this attendance I thought it infra dig. to re- 
quire it ; he might actually think / was afraid of 
going to the top of the old tower alone ; so, having 
obtained the keys and a lantern, I proceeded to ' 
the tower without him. 
‘ The storm seemed to be increasing in violence, 
and the clouds were scurrying along in black masses 
as I crossed the spacious courtyard. The door 
of the turret I had to ascend was in a distant and 
gloomy corner of the yard. I set down the lamp, 
to turn with both hands the heavy key in the stiff 
and creaking lock. When at length the door 
yielded to a push, I was met by such a gust as 
if all the winds of heaven were escaping from tem- 
porary confinement in that old tower. I stood for 
a moment with my back against the open door. 
The strange combination of howls, screams, and 
whistlings that smote my ear at the same time 
startled me, at first, with the idea that some human 
voices in the staircase were mingling with the 
