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Colonel Demarion became interested in the landlord’s confidences, but could only gather in further explanation that for some time past all travellers who had occupied that room had “made off in the middle of the night, never showin’ their faces at the inn again;” that on endeavoring to arrest one or more in their nocturnal flight, they–all more or less terrified–had insisted on escaping without a moment’s delay, assigning no other reason than that they had seen a ghost. “Not that folks seem to get much harm by it, Colonel–not by the way they makes off without paying a cent of money!”

Great indeed was the satisfaction evinced by the victim of unpaid bills on the Colonel’s declaring that the haunted chamber was the very room for him. “If to be turned out of my bed at midnight is all I have to fear, we will see who comes off master in my case. So, Mr. Landlord, let the chamber be got ready directly, and have a good fire built there at once.”

The exultant host hurried away to confide the great news to Jo, and with him to make the necessary preparations. “Come what will, Jo, Colonel Demarion ain’t the man to make off without paying down good money for his accommodations.”

In reasonable time, Colonel Demarion was beckoned out of the public room, and conducted up-stairs by the landlord, who, after receiving a cheerful “good-night,” paused on the landing to hear his guest bolt and bar the door within, and then push a piece of furniture against it. “Ah,” murmured the host, as a sort of misgiving came over him, “if a apparishum has a mind to come thar, ’tain’t all the bolts and bars in South Carolina as ‘ll kip’en away.”

But the Colonel’s precaution of securing his door, as also that of placing his revolvers in readiness, had not the slightest reference to the reputed ghost. Spiritual disturbances of such kind he feared not. Spirits tangible were already producing ominous demonstrations in the rooms below, nor was it possible to conjecture what troubles these might evolve. Glad enough to escape from the noisy company, he took a survey of his evil-reputed chamber. The only light was that of the roaring, crackling, blazing wood-fire, and no other was needed. And what storm-benighted traveller, when fierce winds and rains are lashing around his lodging, can withstand the cheering influences of a glorious log-fire? especially if, as in that wooden tenement, that fire be of abundant pine-knots. It rivals the glare of gas and the glow of a furnace; it charms away the mustiness and fustiness of years, and causes all that is dull and dead around to laugh and dance in its bright light.

By the illumination of just such a fire, Colonel Demarion observed that the apartment offered nothing worthier of remark than that the furniture was superior to anything that might be expected in a small wayside tavern. In truth, the landlord had expended a considerable sum in fitting up this, his finest chamber, and had therefore sufficient reason to bemoan its unprofitableness.

Having satisfied himself as to his apparent security, the senator thought no more of spirits palpable or impalpable; but to the far graver issues of the convention his thoughts reverted. It was yet early; he lighted a cigar, and in full appreciation of his retirement, took out his note-book and plunged into the affairs of state. Now and then he was recalled to the circumstances of his situation by the swaggering tread of unsteady feet about the house, or when the boisterous shouts below raged above the outside storm; but even then he only glanced up from his papers to congratulate himself upon his agreeable seclusion.

Thus he sat for above an hour, then he heaped fresh logs upon the hearth, looked again to his revolvers, and retired to rest.

The house-clock was striking twelve as the Colonel awoke. He awoke suddenly from a sound sleep, flashing, as it were, into full consciousness, his mind and memory clear, all his faculties invigorated, his ideas undisturbed, but with a perfect conviction that he was not alone.