"Yes, I'll talk to you in the morning." That was an answer he had not expected, and he would have kissed her, but she turned her face aside. He noticed that she had a little roll of paper in her right hand.
[CHAPTER XXVI]
An immense and palpable calm surrounded her as she undressed, and when she stretched herself between the sheets she fell at once into an untroubled sleep. For a little while the firelight licked the walls, danced on the chair where her clothes were tumbled and leapt to the ceiling to look down on her in the bed, lying pale and flaccid with her cheek on Alexander's letter. Then the fire's heart called back the flames, and they were gathered into a red and tranquil glow which faded, while the dropping coals slowly ticked out their life. But that noise had ceased and the room was entirely dark when Theresa woke and sat up.
She thought there was someone in the room, but she was not afraid. She listened, leaning on her hands.
"What is it?" she whispered.
The room was quiet, but its stillness was heavy as with a presence. She looked behind her; only the wall was there.
"What is it?" she repeated.
There was something she had to do, and even while she strove to discover it she had slipped from bed and pattered across the floor. She ran with a swift sureness down the stairs and through the hall. The locks and bolts of the front-door yielded to her fever, and then the night air smote her and the cold of the steps shocked her feet.
"What am I doing?" she asked.