This was empty.

Barbara stood uncertain, listening.

In the heart of that darkness there seemed to be, not sound, but, as it were, the muffled soul of sound, a sort of strange vibration, like that of a flame noiselessly licking the air.

She put her hand to her heart, which beat as though it would leap through the thin silk covering.

From what corner of the room was that mute tremor coming?
Stealing to the window, she parted the curtains, and stared back into the shadows.