When her father was on the point of drawing down the blind, Emily interposed.
'Do you mind leaving it up, father ?' 'Of course I will,' he assented with a smile.

'But why ?' 'The last daylight in the sky is pleasant to look at.' On the landing below stood an old eight-day clock.

So much service had it seen that its voice was grown faint, and the strokes of each hour that it gave forth were wheezed with intervals of several seconds.

It was now striking nine, and the succession of long-drawn ghostly notes seemed interminable.
The last daylight--how often our lightest words are omens!--faded out of the sky.

Emily kept her eyes upon the windows none the less.