stirred and became audible to them, as if it breathed. They heard the
delicate fall of the ashes on the hearth, and the flame of the lamp
jerking as the oil sputtered in the burnt wick. Their nerves shook to
the creeping, crackling sounds that came from the wainscot, infinitely
minute. A tongue of fire shot hissing from the coal. It seemed to them
a violent and terrifying thing. The breath of the house passed over
them in thick smells of earth and must, as the fire's heat sucked at
its damp.

The church clock struck the half hour. Once, twice; two dolorous notes
that beat on the still house and died.

Somewhere out at the back a door opened and shut, and it was as if the
house drew in its breath at the shock of the sound.

Presently a tremor crept through Gwenda's young body as her heart
shook it.

She rose and went to the window.




IV


She was slow and rapt in her going like one walking in her sleep,
moved by some impulse profounder than her sleep.

She pulled up the blind. The darkness was up against the house,