It was late now, not far from one o'clock, and around her the terrible silence of a still night. All those small sounds lost in the hum of midday life now came into relief--a ticking in the wainscot, a crack now and then in the joining of the furniture, and occasionally the tap of a moth against the window pane from outside, sounds sharp and odd, which made her wish the stillness of the night were not so intense. As from her little table she looked listlessly through the window, she saw against the faint glow of the moonlight, the figure of a man who seized the paling and vaulted into the flower garden, and with a few swift, stumbling strides over the flower-beds, reached the window, and placing his pale face close to the glass, she saw his eyes glittering through it; he tapped--or rather beat on the pane with his fingers--and at the same time he said, repeatedly: 'Let me in; let me in.' Her first impression, when she saw this person cross the little fence at the road-side was, that Mark Wylder was the man. But she was mistaken; the face and figure were Stanley Lake's. She would have screamed in the extremity of her terror, but that her voice for some seconds totally failed her; and recognising her brother, though like Rhoda, in Holy Writ, she doubted whether it was not his angel, she rose up, and with an awful ejaculation, she approached the window. 'Let me in, Radie; d-- you, let me in,' he repeated, drumming incessantly on the glass. There was no trace now of his sleepy jeering way. Rachel saw that something was very wrong, and beckoned him toward the porch in silence, and having removed the slender fastenings of the door, it opened, and he entered in a rush of damp night air. She took him by the hand, and he shook hers mechanically, like a man rescued from shipwreck, and plainly not recollecting himself well. 'Stanley, dear, what's the matter, in Heaven's name?' she whispered, so soon as she had got him into her little drawing-room. 'He has done it; d-- him, he has done it,' gasped Stanley Lake. He looked in her face with a glazed and ashy stare. His hat remained on his head, overshadowing his face; and his boots were soiled with clay, and his wrapping coat marked, here and there, with the green of the stems and branches of trees, through which he had made his way. 'I see, Stanley, you've had a scene with Mark Wylder; I warned you of your danger--you have had the worst of it.' 'I spoke to him. He took a course I did not expect. I'm not well.' 'You've broken your promise. I see you have used _me_. How base; how stupid!' 'How could I tell he was such a _fiend_?' 'I told you how it would be. He has frightened you,' said Rachel, herself frightened. 'D-- him; I wish I had done as you said. I wish I had never come here. Give me a glass of wine. He has ruined me.' 'You cruel, wretched creature!' said Rachel, now convinced that he had compromised her as he threatened.