afterwards saw Ivan's grey-clad head at the
window. He came softly into the room, and as he tiptoed across the floor
to the washstand, Tina saw splashes of blood on his face and coat,
whilst it dripped freely from his finger-tips. In the morning the news
was brought her by the children that one of her favourite dogs was
dead--eaten by some wild animal, presumably a wolf. Tina's position now
became painful in the extreme. She was more than suspicious of her
husband, and had no one--saving her children--in whom she could confide.
The house seemed to be under a ban; no one, not even a postman or
tradesman, ever came near it, and with the exception of the two
servants, whose silent, gliding movements and light glittering eyes
filled both her and her children with infinite dread, she did not see a
soul.

On four consecutive nights one of her four dogs was killed, each in
precisely the same manner; and on each of these consecutive nights Tina
watched Ivan surreptitiously leave the house and return all
bloodstained, and accompanied by the distant howl of wolves. And on the
day following the death of each dog respectively, Tina noticed the grey
glinting eyes of the two servants become more and more earnestly fixed
on the children and herself. At meal-times the eyes never left her; she
was conscious of their scrutiny at every mouthful she took; and when she
passed them in the passages, she instinctively felt their gaze following
her steadily till she was out of sight. Sometimes, hearing a stealthy
breathing outside her room, she would quickly open the door, demanding
who was there; and she invariably caught one or other of the servants
slinking away disconcerted, but still peeping at her furtively from
under his long pointed eyebrows. When she spoke to them they answered
her in harsh, curiously discordant tones, and usually only in
monosyllables; but she never heard them converse with one another save
in whispers--always in whispers. The house was now full of shadows--and
whispers. They haunted her even in her sleep. For the first two or three
days her husband had been communicative; but he gradually grew more and
more taciturn, until at last he rarely said anything at all. He merely
watched her--watched her wherever she went, and whatever she did; and he
watched the children--particularly the children--with the same
expression, the same undefinable secretive expression that harmonized so
well with the shadows and whispers. And