They did not. They heard only the faint rushing of the air through the
window. The flame danced in the chimney of the lamp and changed the
faces in phantastic alteration. One and all, they turned and faced the
window. Still there was not a sound audible, but the doctor felt as if
the noise were approaching. He knew it as surely as if he could see some
far-off object moving near and nearer. And he knew, as clearly, that the
others in the room felt the same thing. He turned his glance from the
window towards Kate Cumberland. Her face was upturned. There was about
it a transparent pallor; the eyes were large and darkly ringed; the lips
parted into the saddest and the most patient of smiles; and the slender
fingers were interwoven and pressed against the base of her throat.

For the first time he saw how the fire that was so manifest in the old
man had been consuming her, also. It left no mark of the coming of death
upon her. But it had burned her pure and left her transparent as
crystal. Pity swelled in the throat of Byrne as he realised the anguish
of her long waiting. Fear mingled with his pity. He felt that something
was coming which would seize on her as the wind seizes on the dead leaf,
whirling her off into an infinity of storm and darkness into which he
could not follow a single pace.

He turned back towards the window. The rush of air played steadily, and
then in pulses, upon his face. Then even the wind ceased; as if it, too,
were waiting. Not a sound. But silence has a greater voice than discord
or music. It seemed to Byrne that he could tell how fast each heart was
beating.

The old man had closed his eyes again. And yet the rigid forefinger
remained raised, and the faint smile touched at the corners of his
mouth. Buck Daniels sat lunging forward in his chair, his knees