Journal Entry 71 - July 24th, 1895 – 11:27 p.m.
I must’ve fallen asleep earlier, for it is almost half-till midnight. Neither the rain nor thunderclaps awoke me. Rather, it was a dream in which someone stood by and leaned over my chair, whispering for me to leave, as if afraid someone else might hear us. Disturbed after awakening, I realized there was another sound, scarcely audible: the snapping and popping of firewood. Dismal lamplight, too, shone from the adjacent antechamber. I then understood the dwelling was not unoccupied. As I tip-toed over to and entered the parlor, tongues of fire curled over a stack of logs in the grand fireplace. “Not alone,” I whispered, the words evaporating from my mouth—and my tongue, throat, and lungs like parchment.
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