A shriek brought her to the middle of the floor feeling cool and strong. “Stop! stop!” she shouted down out of the window. “I’m coming.” But her voice was drowned in the tumult below. A blazing lamp crashed out into the garden and then came the man’s voice feeble and sane:

“We mighta been killed. We mighta been before our maker, Maria.” And a sobbing. Mrs. Perrance sobbing in serene despair. Without fear.

Away. Away....

Transcriber’s Notes

The original spelling and punctuation were mostly preserved.

A few obvious typographical and formatting errors were silently corrected. Further careful corrections, some after consulting other editions, are listed here (before/after):