The
one lighted window was plainly visible now, its curtain two-thirds
drawn, and as he looked a shadow passed over it. Was it a woman's
shadow? The window darkened as the figure within came nearer to it, and
Howland stood with clenched hands and wildly beating heart, almost ready
to call out softly a name. A little nearer--one more step--and he would
know. He might throw a chunk of snow-crust, a cartridge from his
belt--and then--
The shadow disappeared. Dimly Howland made out the snow-covered stair,
and he went to it and looked up. Ten feet above him the light shone out.
He looked into the gloom behind him, into the gloom out of which he had
come. Nothing--nothing but the storm. Swiftly he mounted the stair.
CHAPTER XV
IN THE BEDROOM CHAMBER
Flattening himself closely against the black logs of the wall Howland
paused on the platform at the top of the stair. His groping hand touched
the jam of a door and he held his breath when his fingers incautiously
rattled the steel of a latch. In another moment he passed on, three
paces---four--along the platform, at last sinking on his knees in the
snow, close under the window, his eyes searched the lighted room an inch
at a time.
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