She,
Mary, the poor trembling girl, checking and overruling herself by a final
effort, that she might leave full opening for her dear young mistress's
answer to her own last frantic appeal, heard at last and most distinctly a
sound within the house. Yes, now beyond a doubt there is coming an answer
to her summons. What was it? On the stairs, not the stairs that led
downwards to the kitchen, but the stairs that led upwards to the single
story of bed-chambers above, was heard a creaking sound. Next was heard
most distinctly a footfall: one, two, three, four, five stairs were slowly
and distinctly descended. Then the dreadful footsteps were heard advancing
along the little narrow passage to the door. The steps--oh heavens!
_whose_ steps?--have paused at the door. The very breathing can be heard
of that dreadful being, who has silenced all breathing except his own in
the house. There is but a door between him and Mary. What is he doing on
the other side of the door? A cautious step, a stealthy step it was that
came down the stairs, then paced along the little narrow passage--narrow
as a coffin--till at last the step pauses at the door. How hard the fellow
breathes! He, the solitary murderer, is on one side the door; Mary is on
the other side. Now, suppose that he should suddenly open the door, and
that incautiously in the dark Mary should rush in, and find herself in the
arms of the murderer.
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