As she spoke she pointed to the study door across the hall; it was ajar.
Henry had striven to pull it together behind him, but it had somehow
swollen beyond the limit with curious speed. It was still ajar and a
streak of light showed from top to bottom.

Mrs. Brigham folded her skirts so tightly that her bulk with its
swelling curves was revealed in a black silk sheath, and she went with a
slow toddle across the hall to the study door. She stood there, her eye
at the crack.

In the south room Rebecca stopped sewing and sat watching with dilated
eyes. Caroline sewed steadily. What Mrs. Brigham, standing at the crack
in the study door, saw was this:

Henry Glynn, evidently reasoning that the source of the strange shadow
must be between the table on which the lamp stood and the wall, was
making systematic passes and thrusts with an old sword which had
belonged to his father all over and through the intervening space. Not
an inch was left unpierced. He seemed to have divided the space into
mathematical sections. He brandished the sword with a sort of cold fury
and calculation; the blade gave out flashes of light, the shadow
remained unmoved. Mrs. Brigham, watching, felt herself cold with horror.

Finally Henry ceased and stood with the sword in hand and raised as if
to strike, surveying the shadow on the wall threateningly. Mrs. Brigham
toddled back across the hall and shut the south room door behind her
before she related what she had seen.

"He looked like a demon," she said again. "Have you got any of that old