Save for that sound we lay quite still in the scullery; I for my
part scarce dared breathe, and sat with my eyes fixed on the faint
light of the kitchen door.  I could just see the curate's face, a dim,
oval shape, and his collar and cuffs.  Outside there began a metallic
hammering, then a violent hooting, and then again, after a quiet
interval, a hissing like the hissing of an engine.  These noises, for
the most part problematical, continued intermittently, and seemed if
anything to increase in number as time wore on.  Presently a measured
thudding and a vibration that made everything about us quiver and the
vessels in the pantry ring and shift, began and continued.  Once the
light was eclipsed, and the ghostly kitchen doorway became absolutely
dark.  For many hours we must have crouched there, silent and
shivering, until our tired attention failed. . . .