He was, in fact, suffering as keenly in anticipation as he
would in reality. The horror, the worst horror of life, of being left
alive with the dead and the associations of the dead was already upon
him. Some people are comforted by such associations, others they rend.
Gordon was one whom they would rend, whom they did rend. He made up his
mind, as he sat there, that he would have to go away from Alton, and
enter new scenes for the healing of his spirit, and yet he knew that he
should not go: that at the last his courage would assert itself.
He sat smoking, the dog's head on his knee. There was not a sound to be
heard in the house. Emma, the maid, had gone away to visit a sick
sister. She might not be back that night. So there was absolute silence,
even in the kitchen. Suddenly the dog lifted his head and listened to
something which Gordon could not himself hear. He watched the dog
curiously. The dog gave a low growl of fear and rage, and made for the
office door. He began scratching at the threshold, and emitted a perfect
volley of barks. It did not sound like one dog, but a whole pack.
Gordon, with an impulse which he could not understand, quickly put out
the prism-fringed lamp which hung over his table. Then he sprang to the
dog, and had the dog by the collar. "Be still, Jack," he said in a low
voice, and the dog obeyed instantly, although he was quivering under his
hand. Gordon could feel the muscles run like angry serpents under the
smooth white hair, he felt the crest of rage along his back. But the
animal was so well trained that he barked no more. He only growled very
softly, as if to himself, and quivered.
Gordon ordered him to charge in a whisper, and the dog stretched himself
at his feet, although it was like the crouch of a live wire. Then Gordon
rose and went softly to a window beside the door. The office had very
heavy red curtains. It was impossible, since they were closely drawn,
that a ray of light from within should have been visible outside. Gordon
had reasoned it out quickly when he extinguished the lamp. Whoever was
without would have had no possible means of knowing that anything except
the dog was in the office, but the light once out, Gordon could peep
around the curtain and ascertain, without being himself seen, what or
who was about. He had a premonition of what he should see, and he saw
it. The stable door was almost directly opposite that of the office.
Between the two doors there was a driveway. On this driveway the only
pale thing to be seen in the darkness was the tall, black figure of a
man standing perfectly still, as if watching. His attitude was
unmistakable. The long lines of him, upreared from the pale streak of
the driveway, were as plainly to be read as a sign-post. They signified
watchfulness.