The idea went
to his vitals with a shock, and he faced about suddenly as if to
defend his life. Then, for the first time, he became aware of a
light about the level of his eyes and at some distance in the
interior of the house - a vertical thread of light, widening
towards the bottom, such as might escape between two wings of arras
over a doorway. To see anything was a relief to Denis; it was like
a piece of solid ground to a man labouring in a morass; his mind
seized upon it with avidity; and he stood staring at it and trying
to piece together some logical conception of his surroundings.
Plainly there was a flight of steps ascending from his own level to
that of this illuminated doorway; and indeed he thought he could
make out another thread of light, as fine as a needle and as faint
as phosphorescence, which might very well be reflected along the
polished wood of a handrail. Since he had begun to suspect that he
was not alone, his heart had continued to beat with smothering
violence, and an intolerable desire for action of any sort had
possessed itself of his spirit. He was in deadly peril, he
believed. What could be more natural than to mount the staircase,
lift the curtain, and confront his difficulty at once? At least he
would be dealing with something tangible; at least he would be no
longer in the dark. He stepped slowly forward with outstretched
hands, until his foot struck the bottom step; then he rapidly
scaled the stairs, stood for a moment to compose his expression,
lifted the arras and went in.
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