At The King's Inn

She listened. Perhaps some of the servants--it was a common usage--had
made their beds on the floor. Perhaps one of the women had stirred in
the room against the wall of which she crouched. Perhaps--but, even
while she reassured herself, the sound rose anew at her feet.

Fortunately at the same instant the glare of the lightning flooded all,
and showed the passage, and showed it empty. It lit up the row of doors
on her right and the small windows on her left, and discovered facing her
the door which shut off the rest of the house. She could have
thanked--nay, she did thank God for that light. If the sound she had
heard recurred she did not hear it; for, as the thunder which followed
hard on the flash crashed overhead and rolled heavily eastwards, she felt
her way boldly along the passage, touching first one door, and then a
second, and then a third.

She groped for the latch of the last, and found it, but, with her hand on
it, paused. In order to summon up her courage, she strove to hear again
the cries of misery and to see again the haggard eyes which had driven
her hither. And if she did not wholly succeed, other reflections came to
her aid. This storm, which covered all smaller noises, and opened, now
and again, God's lantern for her use, did it not prove that He was on her
side, and that she might count on His protection? The thought at least
was timely, and with a better heart she gathered her wits. Waiting until
the thunder burst over her head, she opened the door, slid within it, and
closed it. She would fain have left it ajar, that in case of need she
might escape the more easily. But the wind, which beat into the passage
through the open window, rendered the precaution too perilous.