The evening has closed in; and the room is dark except for the
cosy firelight and the dim oil lamps seen through the window
in the wet street, where there is a quiet, steady, warm, windless
downpour of rain. As the town clock strikes the quarter, Judith
comes in with a couple of candles in earthenware candlesticks,
and sets them on the table. Her self-conscious airs of the
morning are gone: she is anxious and frightened. She goes to the
window and peers into the street. The first thing she sees there
is her husband, hurrying here through the rain. She gives a
little gasp of relief, not very far removed from a sob, and turns
to the door. Anderson comes in, wrapped in a very wet cloak.

JUDITH (running to him). Oh, here you are at last, at last! (She
attempts to embrace him.)

ANDERSON (keeping her off). Take care, my love: I'm wet. Wait
till I get my cloak off. (He places a chair with its back to the
fire; hangs his cloak on it to dry; shakes the rain from his hat
and puts it on the fender; and at last turns with his hands
outstretched to Judith.) Now! (She flies into his arms.) I am not
late, am I? The town clock struck the quarter as I came in at the
front door. And the town clock is always fast.

JUDITH. I'm sure it's slow this evening. I'm so glad you're back.

ANDERSON (taking her more closely in his arms). Anxious, my dear?

JUDITH. A little.