ward the barn. From a
chink in one of the shutters there was a thread of yellow candle-light.
He knew there were men there playing cards to pass the time.

Then terror came on him. The noise in the kitchen was subdued. Most of
the mourners had gone home, and those who were staying the night were
drowsy and were dozing over the fire. He felt he wanted to rush among
them and to cry to them to protect him, and to cower behind them and to
close them around him in a solid circle. He felt that eyes were upon
him, looking at his back from the bed, and he was afraid to turn around
because he might look into the eyes.

She had always respected him, he remembered, and he did not want to lose
her respect now; and the fear that he would lose it set his shoulders
back and steadied the grip of his feet on the floor.

And then there flashed before him the thought of people who kill, of
lines of soldiery rushing on trenches, of a stealthy, cowering man who
slips through a jail door at dawn, and of a figure he had read of in
books--a sinister figure with an ax and a red cloak.

As he looked down the yard he saw a figure turn in the gate and come
toward the house. It seemed to walk slowly and heavily, as if tired. He
knew it was Kennedy. He opened the kitchen door and slipped outside.

The figure coming up the pathway seemed to swim toward him. Then it
would blur and disappear and then appear again vaguely. The beating of
his heart was like the regular sound of a ticking clock. Space narrowed
until he felt he could not breathe. He went forward a few paces. The
light from the bedroom window streamed forward in a broad, yellow beam.
He stepped into it as into a river.

"She's dead," he heard himself saying. "She's dead." And then he knew
that Kennedy was standing in front of him.

The flap of the boy's hat threw a heavy shadow over his face, his
shoulders were braced, and his right hand, the farmer could see, was
thrust deeply into his coat pocket.

"Aye, she's dead," Michael James repeated. "You knew that, didn't you?"
It was all he could think of saying. "You'll come in and see her, won't
you?" He had forgotten what Kennedy had come for. He was dazed. He
didn't know what to say.

Kennedy moved a little. The light from the window struck him full in
the face, and Michael James realized with a shock that it was as grim
and thin-lipped as he had pictured it. A prayer rose in his throat,
and then fear seemed to leave him all at once