He went back quickly to the fireplace, seized the poker, and began stirring the fire, and coughing loud, and indicating as vigorously as possible that he was wide awake.
He felt that he was watched--he felt that he was in momently peril.

He felt that the appearance of slumber would be the signal for a mortal conflict.

Time passed, all remained silent; nearly half an hour had elapsed since he had heard the steps upon the stairs.

His situation began to prey upon his nerves, it irritated them--it became intolerable.
It was not now fear that he experienced, it was the overwrought sense of mortal enmity--the consciousness that a man may feel who knows that the eye of a tiger is on him, and who, while in suspense he has regained his courage, foresees that sooner or later the spring must come; the suspense itself becomes an agony, and he desires to expedite the deadly struggle he cannot shun.
Utterly incapable any longer to bear his own sensations, the traveller rose at last, fixed his eyes upon the fatal door, and was about to cry aloud to the listener to enter, when he heard a slight tap at the window; it was twice repeated; and at the third time a low voice pronounced the name of Darvil.

It was clear, then, that accomplices had arrived; it was no longer against one man that he would have to contend.
He drew his breath hard, and listened with throbbing ears.