Chapter Twenty Six.
At Bay.
Dinah Gurdon stood for a time grasping the back of a chair, battling with a fit of trembling and the strange sense of dread, which rapidly increased till in the enervation it produced, her eyes half-closed, the light upon the table grew dull, and a soft, many-hued halo spread round the flame as she was about to sink helpless upon the floor.
Then mind mastered matter, and with an effort she drew a long catching breath, her eyes opened widely with the pupils dilated in the now clear light. Then she looked wildly at the door and window, whose panes seen against the darkness merely reflected the comfortable kitchen interior, where she stood. But all the same she felt sure that there was a face looking in at her—a face she knew only too well.
Then, tearing away her eyes from where they had rested upon the lower corner, fascinated and held for a time in spite of her will, she turned and gazed at the door, which she now saw was unfastened, while the bolts at top and bottom showed plainly in the light, waiting to be shot into their sockets.
Four steps would have taken her there; but that face was watching her, and she felt fixed to the spot, her heart beating with heavy throbs, and something seeming to force the conviction upon her that the moment she stirred to go to that door, her watcher would spring to it, fling it open, and seize her.
So strong was this feeling upon her that for minutes she could not stir. Then fresh imaginings crowded in upon her brain, and she saw that the face she had conjured up was no longer there at the window, but there was a faint rustling outside, and a low sighing, whistling noise, and a regular pat—pat—pat as of footsteps.
The feeling of enervation came back, and the light grew dim and obscured by dancing rays, while the latch of the door appeared to quiver, slowly rise up and up, to stop at the highest point, and the door slowly moved towards her.
“Imagination!” she exclaimed, and in an instant she had darted to the door, thrust in both bolts, and then drawn down the window-blind, to stand now breathing heavily but feeling master of herself, and ready to act again in any way which she might find necessary.