It was during one of these moments of hesitation that
I heard the first growl of distant thunder. But it made little
impression upon me, and I returned to my work with renewed glow,--
renewed hope. I felt so secure in my shell of darkness, with only
the one small beam lighting up my model and my own fingers busy
with the yielding clay.
But the thunder growled again and my head rose, this time in real
alarm. Not because of that far-off struggle of the elements with
which I had nothing to do and hardly sensed, but because of a
nearer sound, an indistinguishable yet strangely perturbing sound,
suggesting a step--no, it was a voice, or if not a voice, some
equally sure token of an approaching presence on the porch in
front. Some one going by on the road two hundred feet away must
have caught the gleam of my lantern through some unperceived crack
in the parlour shutters. In another minute I should hear a shout
at the window, or, perhaps, the pounding of a heavy hand on the
front door. I hated the interruption, but otherwise I was but
little disturbed. Whoever it was, he could not by any chance find
his way in. Nevertheless, I discreetly closed the shutter of my
lantern and began groping my way back to my own place of exit. I
had reached the dining-room door, when the blood suddenly stopped
in my veins. Another sound had reached my ear; an unmistakable one
this time--the rattling of a key in its lock. A man--two men were
entering by the great front door.
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