An immense and palpable calm surrounded her as she undressed, and when she stretched herself between the sheets she fell at once into an untroubled sleep. For a little while the firelight licked the walls, danced on the chair where her clothes were tumbled and leapt to the ceiling to look down on her in the bed, lying pale and flaccid with her cheek on Alexander's letter. Then the fire's heart called back the flames, and they were gathered into a red and tranquil glow which faded, while the dropping coals slowly ticked out their life. But that noise had ceased and the room was entirely dark when Theresa woke and sat up.
She thought there was someone in the room, but she was not afraid. She listened, leaning on her hands.
The room was quiet, but its stillness was heavy as with a presence. She looked behind her; only the wall was there.
There was something she had to do, and even while she strove to discover it she had slipped from bed and pattered across the floor. She ran with a swift sureness down the stairs and through the hall. The locks and bolts of the front-door yielded to her fever, and then the night air smote her and the cold of the steps shocked her feet.
What little wind there was moaned stealthily among the elms, and on the house-wall the ivy-leaves scratched each other. The lawn stretched before her like water of an unimagined blackness.
"I must have been asleep," she murmured, looking at the night for confirmation, but its waiting patience made her no answer. She thought all the trees had faces that looked kindly on her. She was not afraid of the night, yet it was imminent and sorrowful with doom. Something was going to happen.
"I had to do something," she said in a strange voice, and closed the door. Her fingers were weak now, and slow. Her strength had gone and she was very cold. She stood shivering in the hall, trying to solve this mystery. Had she been warned in some way? Was the house on fire? She sniffed earnestly. There were no signs anywhere of danger or disturbance, and she turned to climb the stairs. Half-way up she began to run. Where was her letter? She had forgotten her letter. Someone had stolen it, and, stealing it, had waked her. But she found it, crumpled, in the bed.