A sudden reckless slamming of the swing-door—yes, and footsteps—quick, light footsteps, coming along the corridor! Hegan’s heart flew into his throat; he felt almost suffocated with terror as he backed into the window, and stared at the entrance.
But the noise had entirely ceased—ceased for five immensely long minutes; for ten—there was nothing to be seen! With an extraordinary sensation of relief he turned away, leant his elbows on the open sash, and once more gazed down into the moonlit park. In ten minutes more he would be free to go! As he stood listening anxiously for the striking of the stable clock, his senses were strung to the utmost—his ears alive to every sound.
Suddenly he heard the sharp creaking of a board, and flung round. She stood in the doorway! A lady with a powdered head and bunchy petticoats; by one hand she held a handkerchief to her face, in the other was a long and glittering knife!
And—she was coming in—she was approaching. Panic seized upon him, and seemed to gnaw his knees. In a spasm of mortal fear—the frenzy of the trapped animal that turns on its destroyer—he snatched up a heavy old chair. Hegan was a powerful man—it was as a straw to him in his present desperation—and he dashed at the figure in a fury of terror, struck it twice with all his force, and felled it to the ground.
The thing gave a stifled shriek, and moaned—yes—but he threw down his weapon, and fled as for his very life.
When he gained the hall, ghastly and breathless, he found an eagerly expectant crowd. The first footman, noticing his face, exclaimed:
“Hallo! Jimmy, old boy—you look as if you’d seen her!”
“Yes,” he gasped out, “she was there—knife and all!”
“And what did you do?”
“I picked up a chair and struck at her, and ran!” He was still livid and panting for breath.