Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate.

He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door.

With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door.

The steps outside continued, he heard the porch floor give under a weight, and then some one rapped softly on the door.
Gilmore waited an instant; the rap was repeated; he stepped to the door, shot the bolt and opened it.

The storm had passed; it was now cold and clear, a brilliant, starlit, winter's night.