One o’clock in the morning
The man who had built a preposterous house in the woods of Indiana and called it `` The House of a Thousand Candles '' was quite capable of other whims ; and as I bent over this scrap of paper in the candle-lighted library it occurred to me that possibly I had not done justice to my grandfather 's genius . My curiosity was thoroughly aroused as to the hidden corners of the queer old house , round which the wind shrieked tormentingly . I went to my room , put on my corduroy coat for its greater warmth in going through the cold halls , took a candle and went below . One o'clock in the morning is not the most cheering hour for exploring the dark recesses of a strange house , but I had resolved to have a look at the ravine-opening and determine , if possible , whether it bore any relation to `` The Door of Bewilderment . '' All was quiet in the great cellar ; only here and there an area window rattled dolorously . I carried a tape-line with me and made measurements of the length and depth of the corridor and of the chambers that were set off from it . These figures I entered in my note-book for further use , and sat down on an empty nail-keg to reflect .