It contained but the remains of a wax candle, which had burned down into the socket and then gone out.

Near by, upon the floor, was a tiny box of matches, with two or three charred ones among them.
'The poor woman must have had a light for at least a portion of the time,' Frank said, as he picked up the box.
'She had, I know she had,' Harold cried, excitedly; 'for I saw it and told grandma so.

It was like she had opened the door and let out a big blaze, and then everything was dark, as if the door was shut or the wind had blown the candle out.' 'What time was that, do you think ?' Frank asked.
'It must have been about eleven,' Harold replied, 'for I remember hearing the clock strike and grandma's saying I must go to bed, it was so late.

I was up with her because her foot was so bad, and I warmed the poultices.' Frank groaned aloud, unmindful of the boy looking so curiously at him, for that was the time when he had heard the sound like a human voice is distress.

He had thought it a fancy then communicated to him by his brother's nervousness, but now he was certain it must have been the stranger calling through the storm, in the vain hope that somebody would hear and come.