now. Not very far; the heart was barely pulsing. She had heard of the
power of the corpse to drive brave men to frenzy, and had wondered,
having no morbid horror of the dead. But this! To wait--and wait--and
wait--perhaps for hours--past the midnight--on to the small hours--while
that awful, determined, leisurely Something stole nearer and nearer.

She bent to him who had been her protector with a spasm of anger. Where
was the indomitable spirit that had held her all these years with such
strong and loving clasp? How could he leave her? How could he desert
her? Her head fell back and moved restlessly against the cushion;
moaning with the agony of loss, she recalled him as he had been. Then
fear once more took possession of her, and she sat erect, rigid,
breathless, awaiting the approach of Death.

Suddenly, far down in the house, on the first floor, her strained
hearing took note of a sound--a wary, muffled sound, as if some one were
creeping up the stair, fearful of being heard. Slowly! It seemed to
count a hundred between the laying down of each foot. She gave a
hysterical gasp. Where was the slow music?

Her face, her body, were wet--as if a wave of death-sweat had broken
over them. There was a stiff feeling at the roots of her hair; she
wondered if it were really standing erect. But she could not raise her
hand to ascertain. Possibly it was only the coloring matter freezing and
bleaching. Her muscles were flabby, her nerves twitched helplessly.

She knew that it was Death who was coming to her through the silent
deserted house; knew that it was the sensitive ear of her intelligence
that heard him, not the dull, coarse-grained ear of the body.