Then he rode on, keeping the same easy gait as before, Ralph had a superstitious horror of Henry Small.

And, shuddering with cold, he crept like a thief over the fence, past the tree, through the pasture, back to Pete Jones's, never once thinking of the eyes that looked out of the window at Means's.

Climbing the ladder, he got into bed, and shook as with the ague.

He tried to reason himself out of the foolish terror that possessed him, but he could not.
Half an hour later he heard a latch raised.

Were the robbers breaking into the house below?
He heard a soft tread upon the floor.