d noiselessly
out of the kitchen, closing the door gently behind him.

His wife remained at the table, unconscious of everything but the lay of
her cards; shuffling, dealing, setting them out afresh in perpendicular
rows, muttering at the obstinacy of the kings and queens as though their
painted faces were alive and sensitive to her reproof. The old house
creaked and groaned in the wind, then became suddenly silent, like a man
overtaken by sleep in the midst of stretching and yawning. Time sped on.
Thalassa did not return, but she did not notice his absence. More rain
fell, beating against the window importunately, as if begging admission,
then ceased all at once, as at a hidden command, and again there was a
profound silence.

A piece of coal jumped from the fire with a hissing noise, and fell at
Mrs. Thalassa's feet. She got up to replace it, and observed that she was
alone.

She thought she heard her husband's footsteps in the passage, and opened
the door. But there was nobody there. The lower part of the house was
gloomy and dark, but she could see the lamp glimmering on the hall stand.
She was about to return to her seat when the hall lamp suddenly mooned up,
cast monstrous shadows, and went black out.

This fantastic trick of the lamp frightened her. What had made it flare up
like that and go out? And whose footsteps had she heard? With a chill
feeling of fear she shut the door and turned again to her game. But for
once the charm of the cards failed her. Where was Jasper, and why did he
not return? Silence held oppressive empire; her fears plucked at her like
ghostly hands. The lamp and the footstep--what did they mean? Had she
really heard a footstep?

She thought she saw something white in the uncurtained space of the
window. She buried her face in her hands, lacking the courage to cross the
room and pull down the blind.

Mysterious noises overhead, like somebody creeping on all-fours, drew her
eyes back to the door opening into the passage. With dismay she saw it was
not properly shut. She wondered if she dared go and lock it. Suppose it
was her husband, after all? And the noises? Were they real, or had she
imagined them?

There came to her ear an unmistakable sound like the slamming of a door
above her. A sudden accession in the quality of her fear sent her flying
to the passage door to lock it. Before she could get there the door flew
open violently, as though hit by a giant's hand, and then the wind