HOW LOVE FOUGHT DEATH IN THE DARK


I woke from a very sound sleep with a start, and lay with a creeping of the
back and half asleep still, wondering what I had heard.

It was dark, with a blackness of darkness to be felt, and all was very
still, which meant that the tide was out, so it was probably early morning.
But it seemed to me that a sound unusual to the place lingered in my ear,
and I lay with straining senses.

It was not such a sound, it seemed to me, as Carette might have made in her
sleep or in wakening, but something altogether foreign and discordant.

Whether, in my sudden wakening, I had made some sound, I do not know, but
there had been heavy silence since. And in that thick silence and darkness
I became aware of another presence in the place besides our own,--by what
faculty I know not, but something told me that we were not alone. My very
hair bristled, but I had the sense to lie still, and there was in me a
great agony of fear lest Carette should move and draw upon herself I knew
not what.

Safety seemed to lie in silence, for I knew that other, whatever it was,
was listening as I was.

I held my breath, but my heart was thumping so that it seemed impossible
that it should not be heard. From the place where Carette lay I could not
hear a sound, not even the sound of her breathing.

I think I must have burst soon if that state of matters had continued.