To the very end of this solitary street the
steps pursued him, and it required a strong effort of stubborn pride
on his part to resist the impulse that prompted him every moment to
run for safety at the top of his speed. It was not until he had
reached his lodging, and sat by his own fireside, that he felt
sufficiently reassured to arrange and reconsider in his own mind the
occurrences which had so discomposed him: so little a matter, after
all, is sufficient to upset the pride of scepticism, and vindicate the
old simple laws of nature within us. Mr. Barton was next morning sitting at a late breakfast, reflecting upon
the incidents of the previous night, with more of inquisitiveness than
awe--so speedily do gloomy impressions upon the fancy disappear under
the cheerful influences of day--when a letter just delivered by the
postman was placed upon the table before him. There was nothing
remarkable in the address of this missive, except that it was written in
a hand which he did not know--perhaps it was disguised--for the tall
narrow characters were sloped backward; and with the self-inflicted
suspense which we so often see practised in such cases, he puzzled over
the inscription for a full minute before he broke the seal. When he did
so, he read the following words, written in the same hand:--


"Mr. Barton, late Captain of the _Dolphin_, is warned of _danger_. He
will do wisely to avoid ---- Street--(here the locality of his last
night's adventure was named)--if he walks there as usual, he will meet
with something bad. Let him take warning, once for all, for he has good
reason to dread

    "THE WATCHER." Captain Barton read and re-read this strange effusion; in every light
and in every direction he turned it over and over. He examined the paper
on which it was written, and closely scrutinized the handwriting. Defeated here, he turned to the seal; it was nothing but a patch of wax,
upon which the accidental impression of a coarse thumb was imperfectly
visible. There was not the slightest mark, no clue or indication of any
kind, to lead him to even a guess as to its possible origin. The
writer's object seemed a friendly one, and yet he subscribed himself as
one whom he had "good reason to dread." Altogether, the letter, its
author, and its real purpose, were to him an inexplicable puzzle, and
one, moreover, unpleasantly suggestive, in his mind, of associations
connected with the last night's adventure. In obedience to some feeling--perhaps of pride--Mr. Barton did not
communicate, even to his intended bride, the occurrences which we have
just detailed. Trifling as they might appear, they had in reality most
disagreeably affected his imagination, and he cared not to disclose,
even to the young lady in question, what she might possibly look upon
as evidences of weakness. The letter might very well be but a hoax,
and the mysterious footfall but a delusion of his fancy. But although
he affected to treat the whole affair as unworthy of a thought, it yet
haunted him pertinaciously, tormenting him with perplexing doubts, and
depressing him with undefined apprehensions. Certain it is, that for a
considerable time afterwards he carefully avoided the street indicated
in the letter as the scene of danger. It was not until about a week after the receipt of the letter which I
have transcribed, that anything further occurred to remind Captain
Barton of its contents, or to counteract the gradual disappearance from
his mind of the disagreeable impressions which he had then received. He
was returning one night, after the interval I have stated, from the
theatre, which was then situated in Crow Street, and having there handed
Miss Montague and Lady Rochdale into their carriage, he loitered for
some time with two or three acquaintances. With these, however, he
parted close to the College, and pursued his way alone. It was now about
one o'clock, and the streets were quite deserted. During the whole of
his walk with the companions from whom he had just parted, he had been
at times painfully aware of the sound of steps, as it seemed, dogging
them on their way. Once or twice he had looked back, in the uneasy
anticipation that he was again about to experience the same mysterious
annoyances which had so much disconcerted him a week before, and
earnestly hoping that he might _see_ some form from whom the sounds
might naturally proceed. But the street was deserted; no form was
visible. Proceeding now quite alone upon his homeward way, he grew
really nervous and uncomfortable, as he became sensible, with increased
distinctness, of the well-known and now absolutely dreaded sounds. By the side of the dead wall which bounded the College Park, the sounds
followed, recommencing almost simultaneously with his own steps. The
same unequal pace, sometimes slow, sometimes, for a score yards or so,
quickened to a run, was audible from behind him. Again and again he
turned, quickly and stealthily he glanced over his shoulder almost at
every half-dozen steps; but no one was visible. The horrors of this
intangible and unseen persecution became gradually all but intolerable;
and when at last he reached his home his nerves were strung to such a
pitch of excitement that he could not rest, and did not attempt even to
lie down until after the daylight had broken. He was awakened by a knock at his chamber-door, and his servant
entering, handed him several letters which had just been received by
the early post. One among them instantly arrested his attention; a
single glance at the direction aroused him thoroughly. He at once
recognized its character, and read as follows:--


"You may as well think, Captain Barton, to escape from your own shadow
as from me; do what you may, I will see you as often as I please, and
you shall see me, for I do not want to hide myself, as you fancy. Do not
let it trouble your rest, Captain Barton; for, with a _good conscience_,
what need you fear from the eye of

    "THE WATCHER?" It is scarcely necessary to dwell upon the feelings elicited by a
perusal of this strange communication. Captain Barton was observed to
be unusually absent and out of spirits for several days afterwards;
but no one divined the cause. Whatever he might think as to the
phantom steps which followed him, there could be no possible illusion
about the letters he had received; and, to say the least of it, their
immediate sequence upon the mysterious sounds which had haunted him
was an odd coincidence. The whole circumstance, in his own mind, was
vaguely and instinctively connected with certain passages in his past
life, which, of all others, he hated to remember. It so happened that just about this time, in addition to his approaching
nuptials, Captain Barton had fortunately, perhaps, for himself, some
business of an engrossing kind connected with the adjustment of a
large and long-litigated claim upon certain properties.