To his dulled senses there came distinctly the sound of a knock at the door.

For a few moments he waited, silent and motionless.
It came again, louder than before, and yet in it there was something of caution.

It was not the heavy tattoo of one who had come to awaken him on a matter of business.
Who could be his midnight visitor?
Softly Howland went back to his heavy coat and slipped his small revolver into his hip pocket.

The knock came again.

Then he walked to the door, shot back the bolt, and, with his right hand gripping the butt of his pistol, flung it wide open.
For a moment he stood transfixed, staring speechlessly at a white, startled face lighted up by the glow of the oil lamp.