He held his own breath while he listened--'One of the dogs,' he thought, and he called them quietly; but no dog came.

'The wind, then, in the chimney;' and he got up resolutely, designing to open the half-closed shutter.

He fancied as he did so that he heard the respiration near him, and passed close to some one in the dark.
With an unpleasant expectation he threw back the shutters, and unquestionably he did see, very unmistakably, a dark figure in a chair; so dark, indeed, that he could not discern more of it than the rude but undoubted outline of a human shape; and he stood for some seconds, holding the open shutter in his hand, and looking at it with more of the reality of fear than he had, perhaps, ever experienced before.

Pale Hecate now, in the conspiracy, as it seemed, withdrew on a sudden the pall from before her face, and threw her beams full upon the figure.

A slim, tall shape, in dark clothing, and, as it seemed, a countenance he had never beheld before--black hair, pale features, with a sinister-smiling character, and a very blue chin, and closed eyes.
Fixed with a strange horror, and almost expecting to see it undergo some frightful metamorphosis, Mervyn stood gazing on the cadaverous intruder.
'Hollo! who's that ?' cried Mervyn sternly.
The figure opened his eyes, with a wild stare, as if he had not opened them for a hundred years before, and rose up with an uncertain motion, returning Mervyn's gaze, as if he did not know where he was.
'Who are you ?' repeated Mervyn.
The phantom seemed to recover himself slowly, and only said: 'Mr.
Mervyn ?' 'Who are you, Sir ?' cried Mervyn, again.
'Zekiel Irons,' he answered.
'Irons?
what _are_ you, and what business have you here, Sir ?' demanded Mervyn.
'The Clerk of Chapelizod,' he continued, quietly and remarkably sternly, but a little thickly, like a man who had been drinking.
Mervyn now grew angry.
'The Clerk of Chapelizod--here--sleeping in my parlour! What the devil, Sir, do you mean ?' 'Sleep--Sir--sleep! There's them that sleeps with their eyes open.
Sir--you know who they may be; there's some sleeps sound enough, like me and you; and some that's sleep-walkers,' answered Irons; and his enigmatical talk somehow subdued Mervyn, for he said more quietly-- 'Well, what of all this, Sirrah ?' 'A message,' answered Irons.