She had counted the steps—­one—­two—­three—­irritated beyond endurance at the long deliberate pauses between.  As they climbed and clanged with slow precision she continued to count, audibly and with equal precision, noting their hollow reverberation.  How many steps had the stair?  She wished she knew.  No need!  The colossal trampling announced the lessening distance in an increasing volume of sound not to be misunderstood.  It turned the curve; it reached the landing; it advanced—­slowly—­down the hall; it paused before her door.  Then knuckles of iron shook the frail panels.  Her nerveless tongue gave no invitation.  The knocking became more imperious; the very walls vibrated.  The handle turned, swiftly and firmly.  With a wild instinctive movement she flung herself into the arms of her husband.

* * * * *

When Mary opened the door and entered the room she found a dead woman lying across a dead man.

IX

A Prologue

(TO AN UNWRITTEN PLAY)

Characters:  James Hamilton, Mary Fawcett, Rachael Lavine, two slaves. 
Place:  Nevis, British West Indies.  Time:  The month of April, 1756.

[A large room, with open windows, to which are attached heavy inside wooden shutters furnished with iron bars.  Beyond the windows are seen masses of tropical trees and foliage, green and more brilliantly hued, filled with screaming birds and monkeys.  In the court is a fountain.  The house is half-way up the mountain, and between the trees is a glint of the sea.  The room is severely simple.  There are no curtains, carpets, nor upholstered furniture; but there are two handsome pieces of mahogany, a bookcase full of books bound in old calf, a table on which are tropical fruits and cooling drinks in earthen jugs, one or two palm-trees, and Caribbean pottery on shelves.  In one corner is a harp.

In the distance is heard a loud menacing roar.  The sky is covered with racing clouds.  Suffusing everything is a livid light.

Mistress Fawcett is leaning on her crutch, looking through one of the windows.  Two slaves are crouching on the floor.  All are in an intense attitude, listening.  Suddenly there is heard the quick loud firing of cannon, four guns in rapid succession.  The negroes shriek and crouch lower as if they would insinuate their trembling bodies through the floor.  Mistress Fawcett hastily closes the window by which she is standing, swings to and bars its shutters.  Immediately after may be heard the sound, gradually diminishing in the distance, of a long line of windows slammed and barred.  Mistress Fawcett attempts to move the shutters of the other window, but the hinges are rusty and defy her feeble strength.]

MISTRESS FAWCETT (to the slaves).  Come here.  Close this window.  Did you not hear the guns?  A hurricane is upon us.

THE SLAVES (crouching lower and wailing almost unintelligibly).  Oh, mistress, save us!  Send for oby doctor!