Then the door handle suddenly turned, and he stepped in.

His hair was tossed with the wind, his shoes were wet and covered with mud, and he was breathing rather fast, as though he had been running.

I looked at him inquiringly.

He offered me no explanation.

But on his way to the chair, which he presently drew up to the fire, he paused for a full minute by the window, and shading the carriage lamp which he still carried, with his hand, he looked steadily out into the darkness.