Chapter 4

"It is foolish and wicked," he faltered.

"Wish!" repeated his wife.

He raised his hand. "I wish my son alive again."

The talisman fell to the floor, and he regarded it fearfully. Then he sank trembling

into a chair as the old woman, with burning eyes, walked to the window and raised

the blind.

He sat until he was chilled with the cold, glancing occasionally at the figure of the

old woman peering through the window. The candle end, which had burnt below the

rim of the china candlestick, was throwing pulsating shadows on the ceiling and

walls, until, with a flicker larger than the rest, it expired. The old man, with an

unspeakable sense of relief at the failure of the talisman, crept back to his bed, and a

minute or two afterward the old woman came silently and apathetically beside him.

Neither spoke, but both lay silently listening to the ticking of the clock. A stair

creaked, and a squeaky mouse scurried noisily through the wall. The darkness was

oppressive, and after lying for some time screwing up his courage, the husband took

the box of matches, and striking one, went downstairs for a candle.

At the foot of the stairs the match went out, and he paused to strike another, and at

the same moment a knock, so quiet and stealthy as to be scarcely audible, sounded on

the front door.

The matches fell from his hand. He stood motionless, his breath suspended until the

knock was repeated. Then he turned and fled swiftly back to his room, and closed the

door behind him. A third knock sounded through the house.

"What's that?" cried the old woman, starting up.

"A rat," said the old man, in shaking tones--"a rat. It passed me on the stairs."

His wife sat up in bed listening. A loud knock resounded through the house.

"It's Herbert!" she screamed. "It's Herbert!"

She ran to the door, but her husband was before her, and catching her by the arm,

held her tightly.

"What are you going to do?" he whispered hoarsely.

"It's my boy; it's Herbert!" she cried, struggling mechanically. "I forgot it was two

miles away. What are you holding me for? Let go. I must open the door."

"For God's sake, don't let it in," cried the old man trembling.

"You're afraid of your own son," she cried, struggling. "Let me go. I'm coming,

Herbert; I'm coming." There was another knock, and another. The old woman with a sudden wrench broke

free and ran from the room. Her husband followed to the landing, and called after her

appealingly as she hurried downstairs. He heard the chain rattle back and the bottom

bolt drawn slowly and stiffly from the socket. Then the old woman's voice, strained

and panting.

"The bolt," she cried loudly. "Come down. I can't reach it."

But her husband was on his hands and knees groping wildly on the floor in search of

the paw. If he could only find it before the thing outside got in. A perfect fusillade of

knocks reverberated through the house, and he heard the scraping of a chair as his

wife put it down in the passage against the door. He heard the creaking of the bolt as

it came slowly back, and at the same moment he found the monkey's paw, and

frantically breathed his third and last wish.

The knocking ceased suddenly, although the echoes of it were still in the house. He

heard the chair drawn back and the door opened. A cold wind rushed up the staircase,

and a long loud wail of disappointment and misery from his wife gave him courage to

run down to her side, and then to the gate beyond. The street lamp flickering opposite

shone on a quiet and deserted road.

(End.)