And then, suddenly, there fell, shaft-like, athwart the still, dark air, the sound of muffled thuds, falling quickly in rhythmical sequence, on the brick-paved space which melted away into the darkness to their left.
“What’s that?” exclaimed Mr. Reynolds. His nerves also were shaken by the news which he had just heard; but even as he spoke he saw that the sound which seemed so strange, so—so sinister, was caused by a tall figure only now coming out of the shadows away across the Market Place. What puzzled Mr. Reynolds was the man’s very peculiar gait. He seemed, if one can use such a contradiction in terms, to be at once crawling and swinging along.
“It’s my husband!”
Rose Blake raised her head. A wavering gleam of light fell on her pale, tear-stained face, and showed it suddenly as if illumined, glowing from within: “He’s never been so far by himself before—I must go to him!”
She began walking swiftly—almost running—to meet that strangely slow yet leaping figure, which was becoming more and more clearly defined among the deeply shaded gas lamps which stood at wide intervals in the great space round them.
Then, all at once, they heard the eager, homing cry, “Rose?” and the answering cry, “Jervis?” and the two figures seemed to become merged till they formed one, together.