I go through this process ten times.

I should go through it twenty, or even thirty, for I am resolved to go on reading, but at the end of the tenth, my ear--unconsciously strained--catches the sound of a step at the stair-foot.

It is not the footman's.

It is firmer, heavier, and yet quicker.
Eight weary months is it since I last heard that footfall.

My heart pulses with mad haste, my cheeks throb, but I sit still, and hold the book before my eyes.