inite that they forbore
futile importunacy. She did not even waste her strength in urgency when
they declared that they would keep the vigil with her. She merely essayed
a remonstrance, and, since it was obviously vain, she desisted. She would
not discuss the theme. She had no words. It even seemed that she had no
thoughts, no fears, no plans. She was annulled in waiting--waiting for
the moment, the opportunity to take action. While the time went by, she
sat there as under a spell of suspended animation, fresh, clear, capable,
tireless, silent. The housemaid came in once and mended the fire, but
later Gladys, mindful of the curiosity of servants, forbore to ring the
bell and threw on the logs herself; then sat down to gaze again into the
depths of the coals, flickering to a white heat at the end of the glowing
red perspective, and wonder what was to come to them all--indeed, what
was this strange thing that had already befallen them in the obsession of
this silent woman, who sat so still, so suddenly endued with vigor, so
brilliant with health and freshness, out of a state of mental anguish
bordering on nervous prostration? Was it all fictitious?--and was there
something terrible to ensue when it should collapse? And what action was
incumbent on her hostess, left to face this problem in this lonely
country house in the dead hours of night?

IX.

The wind had risen; the swaying of the great trees outside was partially
visible as well as drearily audible to the group, for Gladys had
postponed ordering the shutters closed, and then had forgotten them. The
gigantic dim shapes of the oaks surged to and fro in an undiscriminated
shadowy turmoil. It was a dark night, and cloudy. Vast masses of vapor
were on the march, under the coercion of the blast that followed fast and
scourged and flouted the laggards. Mrs. Marable noted now and again a
light and tentative touch on the panes, and began to wonder how far the
illumined window could be seen down the road. Was it not calculated to
allure marauders and nighthawks to this lonely house? She was moved to
hope that the stalwart son of the hotel caretaker, who occupied a room at
the bungalow for the greater security of its occupants, was not a heavy
sleeper; though from the stolid, phlegmatic appearance of the young man,
of a sluggish temperament, she drearily thought it possible that he could
be roused by no less means than applying a torch