'Is he — alive?' she asked.
'No,' I said.
She seemed to shiver. Then she turned quickly and without shutting the door behind her ran down the steep staircase. I heard her footsteps hurrying away into the silent depths of the house as though she feared to look over her shoulder.
I went slowly to bed, wondering how she knew my name. For a time the peculiar behaviour of the girl excluded every other thought from my mind. But then I began to notice the room. I don't know what there was about the room. I know now of course. But I didn't then. It was such a bare, miserable little place. And there were the iron bars across the window and that strange little natch in the door. It was somehow the way I imagine a prison cell looks I lay in bed and, tired though I was, it was some time before I put the candle out. Even then I could not sleep. I lay there in the dark, listening to the sounds of the storm and thinking over the strange events of the day. Sometimes the wind would be no more than a whimper in the eaves. Then it would come roaring against the house, beating at the walls till they shook to their foundations. It would come like a wall of water flung at the tiny barred window. It would ramp and whine and the rain would beat at the glass like a shower of gravel. Then it would die away to a whimper again so that I could hear the solid sound of the breakers thundering against the granite cliffs. And every now and then a flicker of distant lightning would show me the room, and in the sudden darkness that followed, I'd hear the grumble of the thunder away towards the Scillies.
I must have gone to sleep at last. Perhaps I had only just dozed off. Perhaps I had been asleep for hours. I don't know. All I know is that I was suddenly wide awake and instantly conscious of the room. God, how that room wanted to talk to me! I was trembling and sweating. Then in a flicker of lightning I saw the door opening. It was the click of the latch that had awakened me. My body tensed, expecting God knows what. 'Who's that?' I asked. My voice sounded hoarse and unnatural.
'It's me,' a voice whispered back.
A match flared in the dark and was instantly extinguished as a gust of wind crashed against the window. Another match was struck and a candle flame wavered uncertainly.
It was Kitty. She stood there for an instant, the candle trembling in her hand. She had a dark dressing-gown over her nightie and her feet were bare. Her eyes had a wild look and she clutched an envelope to her breast. She didn't say anything. She just stood there looking down at me. It was as though she didn't trust herself to speak.
I sat up leaning on one elbow. 'Why have you come?' I asked She found her voice then, but it was strange and husky. 'Because I promised,' was what she said.
'Because you promised? Promised who?' I asked.