George lighted his candle, and a second gold path leaped out in front; up this he began to ascend.

He carried his candle at the level of his breast, and the light shone sideways and up over his white shirt-front and the comely, bulldog face above it.

It shone, too, into his eyes, 'grey and slightly bloodshot, as though their surfaces concealed passions violently struggling for expression.

At the turning platform of the stair he paused.

In darkness above and in darkness below the country house was still; all the little life of its day, its petty sounds, movements, comings, goings, its very breathing, seemed to have fallen into sleep.