pened into darkness when Barrant reached Flint House.
A faint ray of light flickered from the kitchen window on the giant
cliffs, like a taper from a doll's house. He approached the window by a
line of rocks which guarded it like sentinels, and looked in.

Within, Mrs. Thalassa sat alone by the table in a drooping attitude of
dejection or stupor. Her head was bent over her crossed hands, which
rested on the table, and her grey hair, escaping from the back comb which
fastened it, fell on both sides of her face. An oil lamp smoked on the
table beside her, sending forth a cloud of black vapour like an unbottled
genie, but she did not heed it. There was something uncanny in her
complete detachment from the restless activity of life. The dead man lying
upstairs was not more still.

Had Barrant known her better he would have had matter for surprise and
conjecture in the fact that her patience cards stood untouched in their
shabby leather case, but knowing nothing of that he fell to wondering what
her husband had seen in such a queer little creature to marry her. The
consideration of that question led him to the conclusion that perhaps
Thalassa had been impelled to his choice by the realization that she was
as good-looking a wife as he could afford. Barrant reflected that women
resembled horses in value. The mettlesome showy ones were bred to display
their paces for rich men only. Serviceable hacks, warranted to work a
lifetime, could not be expected to be ornamental as well as useful. So
long as they pulled their burdens without jibbing overmuch, one had to be
content.

He began to wonder where Thalassa was, and moved closer to the shadow of
one of the rocks in case he happened to be prowling around the house. In
the silence of the night he listened for the sound of footsteps on the
rocks, but could hear nothing except the moan of the sea and the whimper
of a rising wind. His eye, glancing upwards, fell upon a chink of
shuttered light in the back of the house which looked down on the sea. The
light came from the dead man's study, and had not been there a few moments
before.

Barrant walked to the kitchen door and tapped lightly. There was no
answer, but somewhere within the house a dog howled dismally. The door
handle yielded to his touch when he tried it, and he walked in.

The little old woman at the table made a sudden movement at his
appearance, but he gave her a reassuring smile and nod. She sat quite
still, with a