the interruption.

"Put your head out of the window, and ask," suggested his wife,
drowsily.

The bell-pull scraped violently in its socket, and a third outburst of
shrill reverberations clamored through the silent house.

"Whatever you do, I'd do it before he yanked the whole thing to pieces,"
added the wife, with more decision.

Brother Soulsby was wide awake now. He sprang to the floor, and, groping
about in the obscurity, began drawing on some of his clothes. He rapped
on the window during the process, to show that the house was astir, and
a minute afterward made his way out of the room and down the stairs, the
boards creaking under his stockinged feet as he went.

Nearly a quarter of an hour passed before he returned. Sister Soulsby,
lying in sleepy quiescence, heard vague sounds of voices at the front
door, and did not feel interested enough to lift her head and listen.
A noise of footsteps on the sidewalk followed, first receding from the
door, then turning toward it, this second time marking the presence of
more than one person. There seemed in this the implication of a guest,
and she shook off the dozing impulses which enveloped her faculties,
and waited to hear more. There came up, after further muttering of male
voices, the undeniable chink of coins striking against one another. Then
more footsteps, the resonant slam of a carriage door out in the street,
the grinding of wheels turning on the frosty road, and the racket of a
vehicle and horses going off at a smart pace into the night. Somebody
had come, then. She yawned at the thought, but remained well awake,