I decided to pass on the news to Jervaise, and discovered that besotted
fool in a little trellised porch, stimulating the execrations of the Irish
terrier by a subdued inaudible knocking. I was beginning to scream my news
into his ear when silence descended upon us with the suddenness of a
catastrophe. It was as if the heavens had been rent and all the earth had
fallen into a muffled chaos of mute despair.

I had actually began my shriek of announcement when all the world of sound
about us so inexplicably ceased to be, and I shut off instantly on the
word "_Someone_...," a word that as I had uttered it sounded like a
despairing yelp of mortal agony.

Out of the unearthly stillness, Jervaise's voice replied in a frightened
murmur, "Someone coming," he said, as if he, alone, had knowledge of and
responsibility for that supreme event.

And still no one came. The door remained steadfastly closed. Outside the
porch, the earth had recovered from the recent disaster, and we could hear
the exquisitely gentle murmur of the rain.

"Damned odd," commented Jervaise. "That cursed dog made enough noise to
wake the dead."

I was inspired to go out and search the window where burned the indigent,
just perceptibly, rakish candle.

She was there. She had returned to her eyrie after quelling the racket in
the hall, and now she leaned a little forward so that I could see her
face.