Цвет из иных миров

           Everytrifleofthesceneburneditselfintohisbrain.Thesounds,thesenseofdreadexpectancy,thedarkness,thesteepnessofthenarrowsteps—andmercifulheaven!...thefaintbutunmistakableluminosityofallthewoodworkinsight;steps,sides,exposedlaths,andbeamsalike!

           ThenthereburstforthafranticwhinnyfromAmmi’shorseoutside,followedatoncebyaclatterwhichtoldofafrenziedrunaway.Inanothermomenthorseandbuggyhadgonebeyondearshot,leavingthefrightenedmanonthedarkstairstoguesswhathadsentthem.Butthatwasnotall.Therehadbeenanothersoundoutthere.Asortofliquidsplash—water—itmusthavebeenthewell.HehadleftHerountiednearit,andabuggy-wheelmusthavebrushedthecopingandknockedinastone.Andstillthepalephosphorescenceglowedinthatdetestablyancientwoodwork.God!howoldthehousewas!Mostofitbuiltbefore1670,andthegambrelroofnotlaterthan1730.

           Afeeblescratchingonthefloordownstairsnowsoundeddistinctly,andAmmi’sgriptightenedonaheavystickhehadpickedupintheatticforsomepurpose.Slowlynervinghimself,hefinishedhisdescentandwalkedboldlytowardthekitchen.Buthedidnotcompletethewalk,becausewhathesoughtwasnolongerthere.Ithadcometomeethim,anditwasstillaliveafterafashion.Whetherithadcrawledorwhetherithadbeendraggedbyanyexternalforce,Ammicouldnotsay;butthedeathhadbeenatit.Everythinghadhappenedinthelasthalf-hour,butcollapse,greying,anddisintegrationwerealreadyfaradvanced.