Excited as he was, the immensity and grandeur of the sight and sounds
struck upon him with a strange force. Never before had he felt so far
apart from man and so near to that dread Spirit round Whose feet
thousands of rolling worlds rush on, at Whose word they are, endure,
and are not.
He struggled forward until at last he reached the house. It was quite
silent, but in one of the windows a light was burning. No doubt its
occupants found it impossible to sleep in that wild gale. The next
thing to consider was how to make himself heard. To knock at the door
would be useless in that turmoil. There was only one thing to be done
--throw stones at the window. He found a good-sized pebble, and
standing underneath, threw it with such goodwill that it went right
through the glass. It lit, as he afterwards heard, full upon the
sleeping Mrs. George's nose, and nearly frightened that good woman,
whose nerves were already shaken by the gale, into a fit. Next minute
a red nightcap appeared at the window.
"George!" roared the Colonel, in a lull of the gale.
"Who's there?" came the faint answer.
"I--Colonel Quaritch. Come down. I want to speak to you."
The head was withdrawn and a couple of minutes afterwards Harold saw
the front door begin to open slowly.
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