It was as if some one had stumbled.

I said, 'Mary,' but no answer came, only a rustling of clothes and a breathing at the other side of the gallery, which passed off towards the upper staircase.

I turned into my room, freezing with horror, and clapt my door.

The noise wakened Mary Quince, who had returned and gone to her bed half an hour before.
About a fortnight after this, Mary Quince, a very veracious spinster, reported to me, that having got up to fix the window, which was rattling, at about four o'clock in the morning, she saw a light shining from the library window.

She could swear to its being a strong light, streaming through the chinks of the shutter, and moving.