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Ralph dragged himself unwillingly away. He was a little disturbed by the tendency of Barca's suggestion. Why had the latter introduced the name of Kate Lingen at this particular moment? If it had not been for her and the thought of those letters, Ralph at that moment would have been sleeping the sleep of the just, perhaps dreaming of Enid.
He came at length to his own room, and closed the door. Every nerve in his body called out for a light, but he resolutely refused to listen. If he gave way to these nervous fears, where were they likely to end? He could not have a light; rather would he lie tossing and restless with that dreadful figure downstairs painted in the darkness like a vivid scene in vivid colours on a sheet of black velvet. Well, it would not be for very much longer now, the daylight was drawing near, and the crime would be discovered. But it was awful waiting all the same. Presently the saffron gleam of the dawn began to tint the sky, and one by one little objects in the room became visible.