The mouse darted into sight again, slipping down across the face of the
clock. Then it disappeared.

The vibrations of the clock, filling the room as with a great clamor,
slowly died away.

Then there was another sound: a nervous rattling of the latch on the
door opening to the highway. The door opened rather abruptly, and
Cinderella, panting and pale, stood on the threshold.

For an instant she seemed afraid to enter; yet plainly she was also
afraid to remain standing there on the threshold. She glanced swiftly
about the room and then she entered and closed the door sharply behind
her. She stood for a moment, panting and leaning against the door.

There was something very strange about her; for although she was weary
and frightened, and clad in the shabbiest old dress imaginable, her
face nevertheless shone with rapture.

Need I tell you what had occurred to her? She had forgotten what the
good fairy had told her about coming home before one o'clock; and as a
result her coach-and-four and her coachman had been changed back to
what they had originally been: a pumpkin, a rat, and four mice. What a
disaster!

Yet after she had stood against the door long enough to catch her
breath she advanced into the room, thrusting her arms upward and
forward as if she were embracing a lovely vision. Her eyes burned with
a glorious light.