Then suddenly he sprang up and
seized his hat and cane.
"It was number 532?" he said, laying hold of the door-knob.
"Yes," I answered, "but you surely do not intend to see her to-night."
"Yes, I do."
"But it is after nine o'clock, and she may--"
But he was already half way down the stairs.
Through a dense, drizzling rain which made the gas-lights across the
street look like moons set in misty aureoles, Storm hastened on until
he reached the unaristocratic locality of Emily's dwelling. He rang
the door-bell, and after some slight expostulation with the servant
was permitted to enter. Groping his way through a long, dimly-lit
hall, he stumbled upon a staircase, which he mounted, and paused at
the door which had been pointed out to him. A slender ray of light
stole out through the key-hole, piercing the darkness without
dispelling it. Storm hesitated long at the door before making up his
mind to knock; a strange quivering agitation had come upon him, as if
he were about to do something wrong. All sorts of wild imaginings
rushed in upon him, and in his effort to rid himself of them he made
an unconscious gesture, and seized hold of the door-knob. A hasty
fluttering motion was heard from within, and presently the door was
opened.
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