“It lightened,” said the policeman. She was looking at him almost angrily. But then the clean, fresh animal look of his skin, and the tame-animal look in his frightened eyes amused her; she laughed her low, triumphant laugh. He was obviously afraid, like a frightened dog that sees something uncanny. The storm suddenly whistled louder, more violently, and, with a strange noise like castanets, she seemed to hear voices clapping and crying: “He is here! He’s come back!” She nodded her head gravely. The policeman and she moved on side by side. She lived alone in a little stucco house in a side street down the hill. There was a church and a grove of trees, and then the little old row of houses. The wind blew fiercely, thick with snow. Now and again a taxi went by with its lights showing weirdly. But the world seemed empty, uninhabited save by snow and voices. As the girl and the policeman turned past the grove of trees near the church, a great whirl of wind and snow made them stand still, and in the wild confusion they heard a whirling of sharp, delighted voices, something like seagulls, crying: “He’s here! He’s here!” “Well, I’m jolly glad he’s back,” said the girl calmly. “What’s that?” said the nervous policeman, hovering near the girl. The wind let them move forward. As they passed along the railings it seemed to them the doors of the church were open, and the windows were out, and the snow and the voices were blowing in a wild career all through the church. “How extraordinary that they left the church open!” said the girl. The policeman stood still. He could not reply. And as they stood they listened to the wind and the church full of whirling voices all calling confusedly. “_Now_ I hear the laughing,” she said suddenly. It came from the church: a sound of low, subtle, endless laughter, a strange, naked sound. “Now I hear it!” she said. But the policeman did not speak. He stood cowed, listening to the strange noises in the church. The wind must have blown out one of the windows, for they could see the snow whirling in volleys through the black gap, and whirling inside the church like a dim light. There came a sudden crash, followed by a burst of chuckling, naked laughter. The snow seemed to make a queer light inside the building, like ghosts moving, big and tall. There was more laughter, and a tearing sound. On the wind, pieces of paper, leaves of books, came whirling among the snow through the dark window. Then a white thing, soaring like a crazy bird, rose up on the wind as if it had wings, and lodged on a black tree outside, struggling. It was the altar cloth. There came a bit of gay, trilling music. The wind was running over the organ pipes like Pan pipes, quickly up and down. Snatches of wild, gay, trilling music, and bursts of the naked, low laughter. “Really!” said the girl. “This is most extraordinary. Do you hear the music and the people laughing?” “Yes, I hear somebody on the organ!” said the policeman.