She drew a breath of relief at that, and rose slowly to her feet.  But she dared not go forward until a third flash had confirmed the second.  Then, while the thunder burst overhead and rolled away, she crept on until she stood beside the pillow, and, stooping, could hear the sleeper’s breathing.

Alas! the worst remained to be done.  The packet, she was sure of it, lay under his pillow.  How was she to find it, how remove it without rousing him?  A touch might awaken him.  And yet, if she would not return empty-handed, if she would not go back to the harrowing thoughts which had tortured her through the long hours of the day, it must be done, and done now.

She knew this, yet she hung irresolute a while, blenching before the manual act, listening to the persistent rush and downpour of the rain.  Then a second time she drew courage from the storm.  How timely had it broken.  How signally had it aided her!  How slight had been her chance without it!  And so at last, resolutely but with a deft touch, she slid her fingers between the pillow and the bed, slightly pressing down the latter with her other hand.  For an instant she fancied that the sleeper’s breathing stopped, and her heart gave a great bound.  But the breathing went on the next instant—­if it had stopped—­and dreading the return of the lightning, shrinking from being revealed so near him, and in that act—­for which the darkness seemed more fitting—­she groped farther, and touched something.  Then, as her fingers closed upon it and grasped it, and his breath rose hot to her burning cheek, she knew that the real danger lay in the withdrawal.

At the first attempt he uttered a kind of grunt and moved, throwing out his hand.  She thought that he was going to awake, and had hard work to keep herself where she was; but he did not move, and she began again with so infinite a precaution that the perspiration ran down her face and her hair within the hood hung dank on her neck.  Slowly, oh so slowly, she drew back the hand, and with it the packet; so slowly, and yet so resolutely, being put to it, that when the dreaded flash surprised her, and she saw his harsh swarthy face, steeped in the mysterious aloofness of sleep, within a hand’s breadth of hers, not a muscle of her arm moved, nor did her hand quiver.

It was done—­at last!  With a burst of gratitude, of triumph, of exultation, she stood erect.  She realized that it was done, and that here in her hand she held the packet.  A deep gasp of relief, of joy, of thankfulness, and she glided towards the door.

She groped for the latch, and in the act fancied his breathing was changed.  She paused, and bent her head to listen.  But the patter of the rain, drowning all sounds save those of the nearest origin, persuaded her that she was mistaken, and, finding the latch, she raised it, slipped like a shadow into the passage, and closed the door behind her.