Not a ray of light penetrated from behind the curtains.

She lay for a little while in bed, listening, wondering whether that window had been opened.

A queer longing came upon her--a longing to thrust back the curtains, so that--if anything happened--she might see.

That would be better than lying here in the dark, knowing nothing, seeing nothing, fearing everything.

If she pulled back the curtains, there would be a panel of dim light visible, however dark the night.
The longing became a necessity.