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 all over and through
the intervening space with an old sword which had belonged to his
father. 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 wine in the house, Caroline? I don't feel as if I could
stand much more."

Indeed, she looked overcome. Her handsome placid face was worn and
strained and pale.

"Yes, there's plenty," said Caroline; "you can have some when you
go to bed."

"I think we had all better take some," said Mrs. Brigham. "Oh, my