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The House of the Whispering Pines by Anna Katharine Green
page 12 of 425 (02%)
she made a quick move and blew out the candle she held. One moment that
magical picture of superhuman loveliness, then darkness, I might say
silence, for I do not think either of us so much as stirred for several
instants. Then there came a crash, followed by the sound of flying feet.
She had flung the candlestick out of her hand and was hurriedly crossing
the hail. I thought she was coming my way, and instinctively drew back
against the wall. But she stopped far short of me, and I heard her
groping about, then give a sudden spring towards the front door. It
opened and the wind soughed in. I felt the chill of snow upon my face,
and realised the tempest. Then all was quiet and dark again. She had slid
quickly out and the door had swung to behind her. Another instant and I
heard the click of the key as it turned in the lock, heard it and made no
outcry, such the spell, such the bewilderment of my faculties! But once
the act was accomplished and egress made difficult, nay, for the moment,
impossible, I felt all lesser emotions give way to an anxiety which
demanded immediate action, for the girl had gone out without wraps or
covering for her head, and my experience of the evening had told me how
cold it was. I must follow and find her and rescue her if possible from
the snow. The distance was long to town, the cold would seize and perhaps
prostrate her, after which, the wind and snow would do the rest.

Throwing myself against the door, I shook it violently. It was immovable.
Then I flew to the windows. Their fastenings yielded readily enough, but
not the windows themselves; one had a broken cord, another seemed glued
to its frame, and I was still struggling with the latter when I heard a
sound which lifted the hair on my head and turned my whole attention back
to what lay behind and above me. There was still some one in the house. I
had forgotten everything in this apparition of the woman I have described
in a place so disassociated with any conception I could possibly have of
her whereabouts on this especial evening. But this noise, short, sharp,
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