The Garden of Resurrection by E. Temple Thurston

I have never yet determined to my satisfaction whether Life be merely the spinning of a coin or a great scheme working itself towards completion by a series of steps, undeviating in their perfect arithmetical progression.

I know it matters little, one way or the other. The thought only recurred to my mind by reason of the fact that had that bell been rung only four times, I should not have answered it. But it was rung five, whereupon it came to me in speculation that no tradesman would have such patience as that and, rising from my chair, I went into the hall. When I opened the door, there stood Clarissa.