So they all sat in the south room with their sewing. Henry read the newspaper, his chair drawn close to the lamp on the table. About nine o'clock he rose abruptly and crossed the hall to the study. The three sisters looked at one another. Mrs. Brigham rose, folded her rustling skirts compactly around her, and began tiptoeing toward the door. "What are you going to do?" inquired Rebecca agitatedly.--"I am going to see what he is about," replied Mrs. Brigham cautiously. She pointed as she spoke to the study door across the hall; it was ajar. Henry had striven to pull it together behind him, but it had somehow swollen beyond the limit with curious speed. It was still ajar and a streak of light showed from top to bottom. The hall lamp was not lit. "You had better stay where you are," said Caroline with guarded sharpness. "I am going to see," repeated Mrs. Brigham firmly. Then she folded her skirts so tightly that her bulk with its swelling curves was revealed in a black silk sheath, and she went with a slow toddle across the hall to the study door. She stood there, her eye at the crack. In the south room Rebecca stopped sewing and sat watching with dilated eyes. Caroline sewed steadily. What Mrs. Brigham, standing at the crack in the study door, saw was this: Henry Glynn, evidently reasoning that the source of the strange shadow must be between the table on which the lamp stood and the wall, was making systematic passes and thrusts all over and through the intervening space with an old sword which had belonged to his father. Not an inch was left unpierced. He seemed to have divided the space into mathematical sections. He brandished the sword with a sort of cold fury and calculation; the blade gave out flashes of light, the shadow remained unmoved. Mrs. Brigham, watching, felt herself cold with horror. Finally Henry ceased and stood with the sword in hand and raised as if to strike, surveying the shadow on the wall threateningly. Mrs. Brigham toddled back across the hall and shut the south room door behind her before she related what she had seen. "He looked like a demon!" she said again. "Have you got any of that old wine in the house, Caroline? I don't feel as if I could stand much more." Indeed, she looked overcome. Her handsome placid face was worn and strained and pale. "Yes, there's plenty," said Caroline; "you can have some when you go to bed." "I think we had all better take some," said Mrs. Brigham. "Oh, my God, Caroline, what----" "Don't ask and don't speak," said Caroline. "No, I am not going to," replied Mrs. Brigham; "but----" Rebecca moaned aloud. "What are you doing that for?" asked Caroline harshly. "Poor Edward," returned Rebecca. "That is all you have to groan for," said Caroline. "There is nothing else." "I am going to bed," said Mrs. Brigham. "I sha'n't be able to be at the funeral if I don't."