And now a great anger came upon me, and I took a quick step forward, but Charmian restrained me. "No, Peter!" she breathed; "not yet—wait!" and wound her arms round mine. In a corner near by stood that same trusty staff that had been the companion of my wanderings, and now I reached, and took it up, balancing it in my hand. And all the time I watched that line of light upon the floor widening and widening, growing ever broader and more broad. The minutes dragged slowly by, while the line grew into a streak, and the streak into a lane, and upon the lane came a blot that slowly resolved itself into the shadow of a hand upon the latch. Slowly, slowly, to the hand came a wrist, and to the wrist an arm—another minute, and this maddening suspense would be over. Despite Charmian's restraining clasp, I crept a long pace nearer the softly moving door. The sharp angle of the elbow was growing obtuse as the shadowy arm straightened itself. Thirty seconds more! I began to count, and, gripping my staff, braced myself for what might be, when—with a sudden cry, Charmian sprang forward, and, hurling herself against the door, shut it with a crash. "Quick, Peter!" she panted. I was beside her almost as she spoke, and had my hand upon the latch. "I must see who this was," said I. "You are mad!" she cried. "Let me open the door, Charmian." "No, no—I say no!" "Whoever it was must not escape—open the door!" "Never! never—I tell you—death is outside—there's murder in the very air; I feel it—and—dear God—the door has no bolt." "They are gone now—whoever they were," said I reassuringly; "the danger is over—if danger it could be called." "Danger!" cried Charmian. "I tell you—it was death." "Yet, after all, it may have been only some homeless wanderer." "Then why that deadly, silent caution?" "True!" said I, becoming thoughtful. "Bring the table, Peter, and set it across the door." "Surely the table is too light to—" "But it will give sufficient warning—not that I shall sleep again to-night. Oh, Peter! had I not been dreaming, and happened to wake—had I not chanced to look towards the door, it would have opened—wide, and then—oh, horrible!" "You were dreaming?" "A hateful, hateful dream, and awoke in terror, and, being afraid, glanced towards the door, and saw it opening—and now—bring the table, Peter."