It was idle to deny it; she was in a state
of unreasoning terror. Her eyes rolled apprehensively about; she
wondered if she should see It when It came; wondered how far off It was
now. Not very far; the heart was barely pulsing. She had heard of the
power of the corpse to drive brave men to frenzy, and had wondered,
having no morbid horror of the dead. But this! To wait--and wait--and
wait--perhaps for hours--past the midnight--on to the small hours--while
that awful, determined, leisurely Something stole nearer and nearer.
She bent to him who had been her protector with a spasm of anger. Where
was the indomitable spirit that had held her all these years with such
strong and loving clasp? How could he leave her? How could he desert
her? Her head fell back and moved restlessly against the cushion;
moaning with the agony of loss, she recalled him as he had been. Then
fear once more took possession of her, and she sat erect, rigid,
breathless, awaiting the approach of Death.
Suddenly, far down in the house, on the first floor, her strained
hearing took note of a sound--a wary, muffled sound, as if some one were
creeping up the stair, fearful of being heard. Slowly! It seemed to
count a hundred between the laying down of each foot.
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