… it was coming here … to us! … David … to you!
She stepped back from the window, her movements confused, feeling in the darkness for the support of a chair, and finding her husband's outstretched hand instead. Hold me, dear, hold me, please … tight. Do not let me go. She was in what he called afterwards a regular state. He drew her firmly down upon her chair again.
Smoke, Sophie, my dear, he said quickly, trying to make his voice calm and natural. I see it, yes. It's smoke blowing over from the gardener's cottage …'
But, David,—and there was a new horror in her whisper now—it made a noise. It makes it still. I hear it swishing. Some such word she used—swishing, sishing, rushing, or something of the kind. David, I'm very frightened. It's something awful! That man has called it out …!
Hush, hush, whispered her husband. He stroked her trembling hand beside him.
It is in the wind, said Sanderson, speaking for the first time, very quietly. The expression on his face was not visible in the gloom, but his voice was soft and unafraid. At the sound of it, Mrs. Bittacy started violently again. Bittacy drew his chair a little forward to obstruct her view of him. He felt bewildered himself, a little, hardly knowing quite what to say or do. It was all so very curious and sudden.
But Mrs. Bittacy was badly frightened. It seemed to her that what she saw came from the enveloping forest just beyond their little garden. It emerged in a sort of secret way, moving towards them as with a purpose, stealthily, difficultly. Then
