It began to seem to Mary, as to Hannah, that there was someone in the house other than themselves. She thought of the children; they might have waked up. Yet listening as intently as she could, she was not at all sure that there was any sound; and whoever or whatever it might be, she became sure that it was no child, for she felt in it a terrible forcefulness, and concern, and restiveness, which were no part of any child.
“There is something,” Andrew whispered
Whatever it might be, it was never for an instant at rest in one place. It was in the next room; it was in the kitchen; it was in the dining room.
“I’m going out to see,” Andrew said; he got up.
“Wait, Andrew, don’t, not yet,” Mary whispered “No; no”; now it’s going upstairs, she thought; it’s along the—it’s in the children’s room. It’s in our room.
“Has somebody come into the house?” Catherine inquired in her clear voice.
Andrew felt the flesh go cold along his spine. He bent near her. “What made you think so, Mama?” he asked quietly.
“It’s right here in the room with us,” Mary said in a cold voice.
“Why, how very stupid of me, I thought I heard. Footsteps.” She gave her short, tinkling laugh. “I must be getting old and dippy.” She laughed again.
“Sshh!”
“It’s Jay,” Mary whispered. “I know it now. I was so wrapped up in wondering what on earth … Jay. Darling. Dear heart, can you hear me?