carried her off, still
sleeping, and, locking her doors, got into bed. Having warmed a nest
with her body for the little creature, she laid it there; and then for a
long time lay awake, expecting every minute to hear him return. She fell
asleep at last, and woke with a start. There were vague noises down
below or on the stairs. It must be he! She had left the light on in her
room, and she leaned over to look at the baby's face. It was still
sleeping, drawing its tiny breaths peacefully, little dog-shivers passing
every now and then over its face. Gyp, shaking back her dark plaits of
hair, sat up by its side, straining her ears.

Yes; he WAS coming up, and, by the sounds, he was not sober. She heard a
loud creak, and then a thud, as if he had clutched at the banisters and
fallen; she heard muttering, too, and the noise of boots dropped.
Swiftly the thought went through her: 'If he were quite drunk, he would
not have taken them off at all;--nor if he were quite sober. Does he
know I'm back?' Then came another creak, as if he were raising himself
by support of the banisters, and then--or was it fancy?--she could hear
him creeping and breathing behind the door. Then--no fancy this time--he
fumbled at the door and turned the handle. In spite of his state, he
must know that she was back, had noticed her travelling-coat or seen the
telegram. The handle was tried again, then, after a pause, the handle of
the door between his room and hers was fiercely shaken. She could hear
his voice, too, as she knew it when he was flown with drink, thick, a
little drawling.

"Gyp--let me in--Gyp!"

The blood burned up in her cheeks, and she thought: 'No, my friend;
you're not coming in!'

After that, sounds were more confused, as if he were now at one door, now
at the other; then creakings, as if on the stairs again, and after that,
no sound at all.

For fully half an hour, Gyp continued to sit up, straining her ears.
Where was he? What doing? On her over-excited nerves, all sorts of
possibilities came crowding. He must have gone downstairs again. In
that half-drunken state, where would his baffled frenzies lead him? And,
suddenly, she thought that she smelled burning. It went, and came again;
she got up, crept to the door, noiselessly turned the key, and, pulling
it open a few inches, sniffed.

All was dark on the landing. There was no smell of burning out there.
Suddenly, a hand clutched her ankle. All the blood