The one lighted window was plainly visible now, its curtain two-thirds drawn, and as he looked a shadow passed over it.

Was it a woman's shadow?
The window darkened as the figure within came nearer to it, and Howland stood with clenched hands and wildly beating heart, almost ready to call out softly a name.

A little nearer--one more step--and he would know.

He might throw a chunk of snow-crust, a cartridge from his belt--and then-- The shadow disappeared.

Dimly Howland made out the snow-covered stair, and he went to it and looked up.