She was bending over the hearth to lift the kettle, when a
sound at the door caused her to start up and listen.
The latch had been rattled: not by the wind, for the December night
without was misty and still. There was somebody on the other side of
the door; and, as she turned, she saw the latch lowered back into its
place.
With her eyes fastened on this latch, she set down the kettle softly and
reached out for her pistol. For a moment or two there was silence.
Then someone tapped gently.
The tapping went on for half a minute; then followed silence again.
'Lizabeth stole across the kitchen, pistol in hand, laid her ear
against the board, and listened.
Yes, assuredly there was someone outside. She could catch the sound of
breathing, and the shuffling of a heavy boot on the door-slate. And now
a pair of knuckles repeated the tapping, more imperiously.
"Who's there?"
A man's voice, thick and husky, made some indistinct reply.
'Lizabeth fixed the cap more securely on her pistol, and called again--
"Who's there?"
"What the devil--" began the voice.
'Lizabeth shot back the bolt and lifted the latch.
"If you'd said at once 'twas William come back, you'd ha' been let in
sooner," she said quietly.
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