I faced about accordingly, and counting with painful care, remounted towards the level of the street.

Five, six, and seven flights I climbed, and still there was no porter.

I began to be weary of the job, and reflecting that I was now close to my own room, decided I should go to bed.

Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen flights I mounted; and my open door seemed to be as wholly lost to me as the porter and his floating dip.

I remembered that the house stood but six stories at its highest point, from which it appeared (on the most moderate computation) I was now three stories higher than the roof.