For a long time, I could not distinguish one word from another, until my own name was suddenly pronounced in a louder key; and in a voice which seemed perfectly familiar to my ears.
The garret in which I slept, was a long, low, dingy apartment which formed a sort of repository for all the worn-out law books and waste papers belonging to the office, and as I have before stated the only furniture it possessed, was a mean truckle-bed on which I slept, and a large iron chest, which Mr.Moncton had informed me, contained title-deeds and other valuable papers, of which he himself kept the key.
They were kept in my apartment for better security; as the stair which led to the flat roof of the house opened into that chamber, and in case of fire, the chest and its contents could be easily removed.
For a wonder, I had never felt the least curiosity about the chest and its contents.
It stood in the old place, the day I first entered that dismal apartment when a child; and during the many long years which had slowly intervened, I never recollected having seen it unclosed.

My attention for the first time was drawn to its existence by hearing my uncle say to some one in the passage in a hurried under tone.
"Set your mind at rest, the paper is in the iron chest in that room.

If you will not rely upon my promise to destroy it, I will burn it before your eyes." "That alone will satisfy my doubts," returned his companion.

"Be cautious how you open the door, or the lad will awake." "Nonsense, young folks like him sleep well." "Ay, Robert Moncton, they are not troubled with an evil conscience." This last observation was accompanied with a low sarcastic laugh; and with an involuntary shiver, I recognized in the mysterious speaker the old woman who had haunted my dreams.
"Conscience never troubles me, Dinah," returned Moncton, gloomily.

"You first taught me to drown its warning voice." "You were an apt pupil," said the woman.