"I'm off to bed." He wiped away the damp that had gathered on his forehead, reasoned with himself for a little while, and resolved to shake his mind free of the ghastly counterfeit which still clung to it by forcing himself to confront, if it was only for a moment, the solemn reality.

Without allowing himself an instant to hesitate, he parted the curtains at the foot of the bed, and looked through.
There was the sad, peaceful, white face, with the awful mystery of stillness on it, laid back upon the pillow.

No stir, no change there! He only looked at it for a moment before he closed the curtains again, but that moment steadied him, calmed him, restored him--mind and body--to himself.

He returned to his old occupation of walking up and down the room, persevering in it this time till the clock struck again.
Twelve.
As the sound of the clock-bell died away, it was succeeded by the confused noise downstairs of the drinkers in the taproom leaving the house.

The next sound, after an interval of silence, was caused by the barring of the door and the closing of the shutters at the back of the inn.