The minutes ticked on relentlessly, and the clock on the mantelpiece chimed the half-hour after one. A light footfall descending the stairs, so light that it could not be heard above the noise of the wind, did not disturb the reader; nor did he appear to see when the door of the room was pushed wider and Esme with a dressing-gown worn over her nightdress and her hair in a heavy plait over her shoulder, stood framed in the doorway, a shrinking slender figure, looking towards him with wide, anguished eyes. She advanced swiftly and stood beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Paul!" she said. He looked up at her slowly, stupidly, his dull eyes scrutinising her, a frown contracting his brows: then his gaze travelled to the hand on his shoulder and stayed there. He moved his shoulder impatiently. "What's the matter?" he said in thickened tones. "I thought you were asleep." "You promised that you would not be long," she said. "I waited for you. Come to bed, Paul; it's late." "I shan't be long," he muttered. "You'll take cold." He stared at her deshabille. "Don't be silly, Esme; go back to bed." "Dear." She put her hand under his arm and attempted to raise him. "Come with me. I am afraid." She looked frightened; her face was blanched and tense; her whole body trembled. He stared at her, amazed. Then clumsily he got on to his feet and stood unsteadily before her, assisted by her supporting hand. Slowly she led him towards the door. He appeared reluctant to go with her; and at the door he halted irresolutely and attempted, without success, to free himself from her hold. Her grasp on his arm tightened. "Come with me," she urged. "I've never known you to be so foolish before," he said. "Why should a little wind make you nervous? It blows hard often enough to have accustomed you to it." "I don't feel well, Paul," she pleaded. "I want you with me." She drew him on towards the stairs. He took hold of the banister and mounted, stumbling, and kicking against each stair in his progress. She got him as far as the landing; but when she strove to draw him on towards the bedroom he resisted. "You go on," he said. "I must go down and switch off the lights?" "Never mind the lights," she urged. "Come with me, dear." "I must go down," he repeated with irritable obstinacy. "I won't be a minute. Go on, and get into bed. I'll be up in a minute." "No," she persisted, and got between him and the stairs, and put out a hand to hinder his descent. "Stay with me, Paul, I don't want you to go down again."