At best, he felt a gleam of pity for one who had been endowed in vain with all those faculties that can make the world a garden of enchantment, one who had never lived and who was now dead.

But of penitence, no, not a tremor.
With that, shaking himself clear of these considerations, he found the keys and advanced towards the open door of the shop.

Outside, it had begun to rain smartly; and the sound of the shower upon the roof had banished silence.

Like some dripping cavern, the chambers of the house were haunted by an incessant echoing, which filled the ear and mingled with the ticking of the clocks.

And, as Markheim approached the door, he seemed to hear, in answer to his own cautious tread, the steps of another foot withdrawing up the stair.