“Peter!—­Peter!—­oh, Peter, I want you!—­oh, Peter!—­wake! wake!” I sat up in bed, and, as I listened, grew suddenly sick, and a fit of trembling shook me violently, for the whisper was still in my ears, and in the whisper was an agony of fear and dread indescribable.

“Peter!—­oh, Peter, I am afraid!—­wake! wake!”

A cold sweat broke out upon me and I glared helplessly, towards the door.

“Quick, Peter!—­come to me—­oh, God!”

I strove to move, but still I could not.  And now, in the darkness, hands were shaking me wildly, and Charmian’s voice was speaking in my ear.

“The door!” it whispered, “the door!”

Then I arose, and was in the outer room, with Charmian close beside me in the dark, and my eyes were upon the door.  And then I beheld a strange thing, for a thin line of white light traversed the floor from end to end.  Now, as I watched this narrow line, I saw that it was gradually widening and widening; very slowly, and with infinite caution, the door was being opened from without.  In this remote place, in this still, dead hour of the night, full of the ghostly hush that ever precedes the dawn —­there was something devilish—­something very like murder in its stealthy motion.  I heard Charmian’s breath catch, and, in the dark, her hand came and crept into mine and her fingers were cold as death.

And now a great anger came upon me, and I took a quick step forward, but Charmian restrained me.

“No, Peter!” she breathed; “not yet—­wait!” and wound her arms round mine.

In a corner near by stood that same trusty staff that had been the companion of my wanderings, and now I reached, and took it up, balancing it in my hand.  And all the time I watched that line of light upon the floor widening and widening, growing ever broader and more broad.  The minutes dragged slowly by, while the line grew into a streak, and the streak into a lane, and upon the lane came a blot that slowly resolved itself into the shadow of a hand upon the latch.  Slowly, slowly, to the hand came a wrist, and to the wrist an arm—­another minute, and this maddening suspense would be over.  Despite Charmian’s restraining clasp, I crept a long pace nearer the softly moving door.

The sharp angle of the elbow was growing obtuse as the shadowy arm straightened itself.  Thirty seconds more!  I began to count, and, gripping my staff, braced myself for what might be, when —­with a sudden cry, Charmian sprang forward, and, hurling herself against the door, shut it with a crash.

“Quick, Peter!” she panted.  I was beside her almost as she spoke, and had my hand upon the latch.

“I must see who this was,” said I.

“You are mad!” she cried.

“Let me open the door, Charmian.”

“No, no—­I say no!”

“Whoever it was must not escape—­open the door!”

“Never! never—­I tell you—­death is outside—­there’s murder in the very air; I feel it—­and—­dear God—­the door has no bolt.”