terrified. That tone of the somnambulist, differing so slightly yet so
distressingly from normal, waking speech, seemed to her somehow wicked.
Evil and danger lay waiting thick behind it. She leaned against the
window-sill, shaking in every limb. She had an awful feeling for a
moment that something was coming in to fetch him.

"Not yet, then," she heard in a much lower voice from the bed, "but
later. It will be better so... I shall go later...."

The words expressed some fringe of these alarms that had haunted her so
long, and that the arrival and presence of Sanderson seemed to have
brought to the very edge of a climax she could not even dare to think
about. They gave it form; they brought it closer; they sent her thoughts
to her Deity in a wild, deep prayer for help and guidance. For here was
a direct, unconscious betrayal of a world of inner purposes and claims
her husband recognized while he kept them almost wholly to himself.

By the time she reached his side and knew the comfort of his touch, the
eyes had closed again, this time of their own accord, and the head lay
calmly back upon the pillows. She gently straightened the bed clothes.
She watched him for some minutes, shading the candle carefully with one
hand. There was a smile of strangest peace upon the face.

Then, blowing out the candle, she knelt down and prayed before getting
back into bed. But no sleep came to her. She lay awake all night
thinking, wondering, praying, until at length with the chorus of the
birds and the glimmer of the dawn upon the green blind, she fell into a
slumber of complete exhaustion.

But while she slept the wind continued roaring in the Forest further