hardly believe now, with the light in the room, and the sense of
security inspired by the closed doors and shutters, that I had
ever felt even the slightest apprehension earlier in the day. I
sang as I washed up the tea-things; and even the cat seemed to
catch the infection of my good spirits. I never knew the pretty
creature so playful as she was that evening.

The tea-things put by, I took up my knitting, and worked away at
it so long that I began at last to get drowsy. The fire was so
bright and comforting that I could not muster resolution enough
to leave it and go to bed. I sat staring lazily into the blaze,
with my knitting on my lap--sat till the splashing of the rain
outside and the fitful, sullen sobbing of the wind grew fainter
and fainter on my ear. The last sounds I heard before I fairly
dozed off to sleep were the cheerful crackling of the fire and
the steady purring of the cat, as she basked luxuriously in the
warm light on the hearth. Those were the last sounds before I
fell asleep. The sound that woke me was one loud bang at the
front door.

I started up, with my heart (as the saying is) in my mouth, with
a frightful momentary shuddering at the roots of my hair--I
started up breathless, cold and motionless, waiting in the
silence I hardly knew for what, doubtful at first whether I had
dreamed about the bang at the door, or whether the blow had
really been struck on it.

In a minute or less there came a second bang, louder than the
first. I ran out into the passage.