The wind was just like the little wind along that damned Canal. No wonder his teeth chattered. And then right out in the void he saw a star. It was so faint, so far beyond the valley and the wind's voice that he was not sure it was a star. But as he stood looking at it the voice seemed to come quite close. "Auntie ... Auntie...." "That you, Jim ... here I am, boy...." ... Only a fool would stand with chattering teeth, in carpet slippers, at a goodish bit past midnight, talking to something that wasn't there.... Somewhere in the darkness there was a presence. Perhaps it was outside the window. He felt his way back to the open door, as far as the veiled peril of the twelve stone steps. It was so dark that he couldn't even see the topmost; there was not even a railing for such an emergency; a single false step and he would break his neck. Queerly excited he stood poised on the threshold, feeling into space with one foot. The wind was in the garden below him. And then oddly, at a fresh angle, over by his left hand, he caught a glimpse of the star. He swayed forward into the void but the lamp of faith had been lit in his eyes. His taut nerves awoke to the fact that he was really descending the unseen steps one by one and that he was counting them. If he didn't take extraordinary care he was very likely to kill himself, but the care he was taking seemed by no means extraordinary. His old carpet slippers were shuffling along the gravel at last. He could make out a line of currant bushes by which ran the path to the house. As he moved forward the wind died away in the valley and he lost sight of the star. But he knew his way now. Pent up forces flowed from him through the wall of living darkness. "I'm coming, Jim!" he muttered. The wind seemed to answer him. And then he came to the end of the row of bushes and there beyond a patch of wet grass was the door of the cosy room still open with a subdued glow of lamp and fire shining beyond. When he came in he took off his soaked slippers that they might not soil the beautiful carpet of which Melia was so proud. As he barred the door and drew the curtains across the window, the pretty old-fashioned clock on the chimneypiece chided him by melodiously striking one o'clock. He must be a fool--he had to be up at seven; but the enchanted room that was like a dream embodied cast one last spell upon him. He had no need ... the Chaps wouldn't expect it ... he was forty-five.... The voice was in the valley. It was a quarter past one. He raked out the last faint embers of the fire, then he put out the lamp and carried his wet slippers into the hall. After his recent adventure it was but a simple matter to find his way up the richly carpeted stairs without a light and creep into the room where his wife slept.