But, until the spirit is poured out from on high, it's nothing but a stumbling in the dark." This last utterance was a reflection rather than a remark.
Mary made no reply.

She did not care to have the last word; nor did she fancy her cause lost when she had not at hand the answer that befitted folly.

She ran down the stair, and at the bottom stood waiting her new acquaintance, who descended more slowly, careful not to make a noise.
She could now see, by the gaslight that burned on the landing, a little more of what the man was.

He was powerfully built, rather over middle height, and about the age of thirty.

His complexion was dark, and the hand that held the bow looked grimy.