a slight noise made her heart jump. Then she and her heart both kept very
still, for it seemed that the noise was in the room, not far from her bed.

It came again, and Angela realized that it was at one of the two windows,
both of which were open.

At her request, Kate had pulled the dark blinds halfway up, and Angela
would have laughed at the suggestion that a thief could creep into a room
on the twelfth story. Nevertheless, the night glow of the great city
silhouetted the figure of a man black against the shining of the
half-raised window-panes. It was kneeling on the wide stone sill outside,
and slowly, with infinite caution, was pushing the heavy window-sash up
higher, so that it might be possible to crawl underneath and slip into the
room.

As she stared, incredulous at first, then driven to believe, Angela
guessed how the seeming miracle had been performed. The man had crept
along the cornice which belted the wall, on a level a few feet lower than
the line of the window-sills. She remembered noticing this as one suddenly
recalls some forgotten detail in a photograph. A clever thief might make
the perilous passage, helping himself along by one window-sill after
another until he reached the one he wanted.

Angela turned sick, her first thought being of the immense drop from her
window to the ground. "If he should fall!" were the words that sprang to
her lips. Then she remembered that it would be better for her if he should
fall. He meant to rob and perhaps to murder her. She ought to wish that he
might slip. But she seemed to hear a crash, to see a sight of horror, and
could not make the wish.