midday
She leaned her temple on her hand , and her rich light hair half covered her fingers , and her amazing interview with Dorcas was again present with her , and the same feeling of bewilderment . The suddenness and the nature of the disclosures were dream-like and unreal , and the image of Dorcas remained impressed upon her sight ; not like Dorcas , though the same , but something ghastly , wan , glittering , and terrible , like a priestess at a solitary sacrifice . It was late now , not far from one o'clock , and around her the terrible silence of a still night . All those small sounds lost in the hum of midday life now came into relief -- a ticking in the wainscot , a crack now and then in the joining of the furniture , and occasionally the tap of a moth against the window pane from outside , sounds sharp and odd , which made her wish the stillness of the night were not so intense . As from her little table she looked listlessly through the window , she saw against the faint glow of the moonlight , the figure of a man who seized the paling and vaulted into the flower garden , and with a few swift , stumbling strides over the flower-beds , reached the window , and placing his pale face close to the glass , she saw his eyes glittering through it ; he tapped -- or rather beat on the pane with his fingers -- and at the same time he said , repeatedly : ` Let me in ; let me in . ' Her first impression , when she saw this person cross the little fence at the road-side was , that Mark Wylder was the man . But she was mistaken ; the face and figure were Stanley Lake 's .