If the house held a clock, it ticked inaudibly.
Upon this silence, at the end of a minute, broke a light sound--the _tink-tink_ of a decanter on the rim of a wine-glass.

It came from the room where the light was.
Now perhaps it was that the very thought of liquor put warmth into my cold bones.

It is certain that all of a sudden I straightened my back, took the remaining stairs at two strides, and walked down the passage as bold as brass, without caring a jot for the noise I made.
In the doorway I halted.

The room was long, lined for the most part with books bound in what they call "divinity calf," and littered with papers like a barrister's table on assize day.

A leathern elbow-chair faced the fireplace, where a few coals burned sulkily, and beside it, on the corner of a writing table, were set an unlit candle and a pile of manuscripts.