of men. Ian was used to the creaking and groaning of the
wood-work; he knew how on the staircase the rising of the boards, which
had been pressed down in the day, simulated ghostly footsteps in the
night. He was in his mental self the most rational of mortals, but at
times the Highland strain in his blood, call it sensitive or
superstitious, spoke faintly to his nerves--never before so strongly, so
over-masteringly as to-night. A blue blaze of crooked lightning
zigzagged down the outer darkness and seemed to strike the earth but a
little beyond the garden wall. Following on its heels a tremendous clap
of thunder burst, as it were, on the very chimneys. The solid house
shook to its foundations. But the tide of horrible, irrational fear
which swept over Ian's whole being was not caused by this mere
exaggerated commonplace of nature. He could give no guess what it was
that caused it; he only knew that it was agony. He knew what it meant to
feel the hair lift on his head; he knew what the Psalmist meant when he
said, "My bones are turned to water." And as he stood unable to move,
afraid to turn his head, abject and ashamed of his abjectness, he was
listening, listening for he knew not what.

At length it came. He heard the stairs creak and a soft padding footstep
coming slowly down them; with it the brush of a light garment and
intermittently a faint human sound between a sigh and a sob. He did not
reflect that he could not really have heard such slight sounds through a
thick stone wall and a closed door. He heard them. The steps stopped at
the door; a hand seemed feeling to open it, and again there was a
painful sigh. The physical terror had not passed from him, but the
sudden though that it was his wife and that she was frightened or ill,
made him able to master it. He seized the lamp, because he knew the
light in the hall was extinguished, rushed to the door, opened it and
looked out. There was no one there. He made a hasty but sufficient
search and returned to the study.

The extremity of his fear was now passed, but an unpleasantly eery
feeling still lingered about him and he had a very definite desire to
find himself in some warm, human neighborhood. He had left the door open
and was arranging the papers on his writing-table, when once again he
heard those soft padding feet on the stairs; but this time they were
much heavier, more hurried, and stumbled a little. He stood bent over
the table, a bundle of papers in his