Shortly after I heard his man, Ridley, talking with Mrs.Rusk in the gallery.

I could not be mistaken in their voices.

I knew not why I was startled and excited, and had raised myself to listen on my elbow.

But they were talking quietly, like persons giving or taking an ordinary direction, and not in the haste of an unusual emergency.
Then I heard the man bid Mrs.Rusk good-night and walk down the gallery to the stairs, so that I concluded he was wanted no more, and all must therefore be well.

So I laid myself down again, though with a throbbing at my heart, and an ominous feeling of expectation, listening and fancying footsteps.
I was going to sleep when I heard the bell ring again; and, in a few minutes, Mrs.Rusk's energetic step passed along the gallery; and, listening intently, I heard, or fancied, my father's voice and hers in dialogue.