Husband and wife -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
He fumbled away for some time at what he discovered by feeling, to be an
iron railing, before he succeeded in finding anything like a gate. He
came upon it at last suddenly: it was open. The path fortunately was
straight, and the light of a gas-lamp glimmering feebly through the fog
showed him, in time to prevent his tumbling against it, a flight of five
or six stone steps to be ascended before he could ring the front-door
bell of Number 2, Barnwood Terrace. It showed him something more. Some
one was there before him. On the top step stood a figure, waiting
apparently for admission. It was a human being, but that was about all
he could discern as he cautiously mounted the steps; then as he drew
nearer, it gradually assumed to him through the exaggerating, distorting
medium of the fog the dimensions of an unnaturally tall, curiously
shrouded woman. It remained perfectly motionless, whether the face was
turned towards him or not he could not tell. Now he was quite close to
it, standing on the same step, yet it gave not the slightest sign of
having perceived his approach. The young man began to think it rather
odd--who could it be? A woman, apparently, standing there alone
waiting--was she a beggar? No, even through the fog he could
distinguish nothing crouching or cringing in the attitude, the figure
stood erect and firm, the shrouding drapery seemed to fall in rich and
ample folds. The new-comer felt extremely puzzled. Then suddenly he
resolved to end his perplexity.
"Have you rung?" he asked, courteously. The figure moved a little, but
seemed to hesitate to answer. "Shall I ring?" he repeated, "or have you
done so already?"
"I have rung, but perhaps not loudly enough."
"I think you had better ring again, for I have been waiting here some
minutes," came the reply at last in low, clear, refined tones.
"A lady! How very strange for her to be standing here alone in the
dark--what a queer place Wareborough must be," thought the young man;
but he said nothing more, and almost before his vigorous pull at the
bell could have taken effect, the door was thrown open, revealing a
brightly lighted, crimson carpeted hall, and two or three servants in
unexceptionable attire.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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