And poor Mrs.
Sturk still sat in her drawing-room, more and more agitated and frightened.
But her missing soldier did not turn up, and Leonora sat and listened hour after hour.

No sound of return, not even the solemn clank and fiery snort of the fiend-horse under her window, or the 'ho-lo, ho-la--my life, my love!' of the phantom rider, cheated her with a momentary hope.
Poor Mrs.Sturk! She raised the window a few inches, that she might the better hear the first distant ring of his coming on the road.

She forgot he had not his horse that night, and was but a pedestrian.

But somehow the night-breeze through the aperture made a wolfish howling and sobbing, that sounded faint and far away, and had a hateful character of mingled despair and banter in it.
She said every now and then aloud, to reassure herself--'What a noise the wind makes to be sure!' and after a while she opened the window wider.

But her candle flared, and the flame tossed wildly about, and the perplexed lady feared it might go out absolutely.