Under the Shadow

The din of the street had died out that winter night, said Mr. F., and darkness settled down on the city. The lamps at the corner shone weird and dim; the fog and the rain made a mist so dense that the eye could see scare a yard away. It was a gloomy night, such as crime selects and the outlaw loves. Far down on the street a single sound was heard, that of a footstep, ringing on the pavement with a dreary echo. The dull, gray mist curled around the house tops and shone hueless and dim in the clouds. The rain and the fog grew denser. The cold crept in through the rifts of fog, and the body felt chill with cold. Few were abroad such a night as this—none save the votaries of crime, or those who watched them. To these all seasons were the same. No rest from toil because of cold—no escape from the damp and wet of the night. Mr. I. and myself stood in the shadow of the wall, listening to the echoing footstep and the sough of the wind. The rain fell faster, and the wind gave out a wail like one in distress. Solemn and [weird] its echoes pealed through the quiet streets and the sleeping city. Solemn as the music of a tolling bell or the sob of a heart that is breaking. But suddenly another sound crept in. It mingled with the wind, and seemed like the cry of one in distress. It came from a building across the way, which rose gloomy and grand in the air. For many years the house had been desolate. Once it had been a mansion of wealth and refinement, in the old colonial days. But decay had crumbled its walls, and the wild creeper had strayed in a [network] of vines over its roof. The… Read More