It was still blowing in sudden, capricious gusts; and when he opened the
front door the wind charged fiercely upon him, as if to drive him back.
When he had finally forced his way into the street, a return current
closed the door as suddenly and sharply behind him as if it had ejected
him from his home for ever.

He reached the fourth house quickly, and as quickly ran up the steps;
his hand was upon the bell when his eye suddenly caught sight of his
wife's pass-key still in the lock. She had evidently forgotten it. Here
was a chance to mischievously banter that habitually careful little
woman! He slipped it into his pocket and quietly entered the dark but
perfectly familiar hall. He reached the staircase without a stumble
and began to ascend softly. Halfway up he heard the sound of his wife's
hurried voice and another that startled him. He ascended hastily two
steps, which brought him to the level of the half-opened transom of
the kitchen. A candle was burning on the kitchen table; he could see
everything that passed in the room; he could hear distinctly every word
that was uttered.

He did not utter a cry or sound; he did not even tremble. He remained
so rigid and motionless, clutching the banisters with his stiffened
fingers, that when he did attempt to move, all life, as well as all that
had made life possible to him, seemed to have died from him for
ever. There was no nervous illusion, no dimming of his senses; he saw
everything with a hideous clarity of perception. By some diabolical
instantaneous photography of the brain, little actions, peculiarities,
touches of gesture, expression and attitude never before noted by him in
his wife, were clearly fixed and bitten in his consciousness. He saw the
color of his friend's overcoat, the reddish tinge of his wife's brown