“The glass is coming down with a run,” he said, then he and the bishop joined me at the window.
We stood there in silence, wrapt in contemplation of the splendour of the moonlight. Beneath it the channel appeared as a silver background to the black silhouette of trees. A faint flush was reflected from the red roofs of houses in the village. The lawn before us was a silver mystery woven of a myriad threads of dew-besprinkled gossamer, and flowers looked up with pallid, unfamiliar faces to the sky.
The lustre of the stars near the triumphant moon was dimmed, but low down in the south-east I could see the lovely constellation Scorpio, like a diamond pendant with a topaz heart.
Even the corncrakes were hushed, and nothing stirred on earth or in the air around us. The only movement was the majestic advance of the vast cloud spreading from the west, threatening an invasion of “the Peace of God which passeth all understanding.” Standing thus with our backs to the room, we were all unaware of Bates’s entrance until he was close behind us.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said, almost in a whisper.
I turned to see his face, looking white in the moonlight, and with a perturbed expression very unusual in him.
“What is it, Bates?” I asked.
“There seems to be someone wanting to get into the cellar from the passage. I think it must be that native come back, sir. I thought I had better take your instructions before opening the door.”
We turned back into the room at once, all three of us at a loss before this shock of the totally unexpected. The immediate return of Jakoub was something I had never contemplated. In the attempt to rearrange my ideas I was speechless.
“Why do you think he is there?” I heard Edmund asking, “tell us what has happened.”