“Get it，” she panted； “get it quickly， and wish—Oh， my boy，my boy！”
Her husband struck a match and lit the candle. “Get backto bed，” he said， unsteadily. “You don’t know what you aresaying.”
“We had the first wish granted，” said the old woman，feverishly； “why not the second？”
“A coincidence，” stammered the old man.
“Go and get it and wish，” cried his wife， quivering withexcitement.
The old man turned and regarded her， and his voice shook.
“He has been dead ten days， and besides he—I would not tellyou else， but—I could only recognize him by his clothing. Ifhe was too terrible for you to see then， how now？”
“Bring him back，” cried the old woman， and dragged himtoward the door. “Do you think I fear the child I have nursed？”
He went down in the darkness， and felt his way to theparlour， and then to the mantelpiece. The talisman was in itsplace， and a horrible fear that the unspoken wish might bringhis mutilated son before him ere he could escape from theroom seized upon him， and he caught his breath as he foundthat he had lost the direction of the door. His brow cold withsweat， he felt his way round the table， and groped along thewall until he found himself in the small passage with theunwholesome thing in his hand.
Even his wife’s face seemed changed as he entered the room.
It was white and expectant， and to his fears seemed to have anunnatural look upon it. He was afraid of her.
“Wish！” she cried， in a strong voice.
“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， withburning eyes， walked to the window and raised the blind.
He sat until he was chilled with the cold， glancingoccasionally at the figure of the old woman peering throughthe window. The candle-end， which had burned below therim of the china candlestick， was throwing pulsating shadowson the ceiling and walls， until， with a flicker larger than therest， it expired. The old man， with an unspeakable sense ofrelief at the failure of the talisman， crept back to his bed， anda minute or two afterward the old woman came silently andapathetically beside him.
Neither spoke， but lay silently listening to the ticking of theclock. A stair creaked， and a squeaky mouse scurried noisilythrough the wall. The darkness was oppressive， and after lyingfor some time screwing up his courage， he took the box ofmatches， and striking one， went downstairs for a candle.
At the foot of the stairs the match went out， and he paused tostrike another； and at the same moment a knock， so quiet andstealthy as to be scarcely audible， sounded on the front door.
The matches fell from his hand and spilled in the passage.
He stood motionless， his breath suspended until the knock wasrepeated. Then he turned and fled swiftly back to his room， andclosed the door behind him. A third knock sounded through thehouse.
“What’s that？” cried the old woman， starting up.
“A rat，” said the old man in shaking tones—“a rat. It passedme on the stairs.”
His wife sat up in bed listening. A loud knock resoundedthrough the house.
“It’s Herbert！” she screamed. “It’s Herbert！”
She ran to the door， but her husband was before her， andcatching 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. “Letme go. I’m coming， Herbert； I’m coming.”
There was another knock， and another. The old womanwith a sudden wrench broke free and ran from the room.
Her husband followed to the landing， and called after herappealingly as she hurried downstairs. He heard the chainrattle back and the bottom bolt drawn slowly and stiffly fromthe 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 wildlyon the floor in search of the paw. If he could only find itbefore the thing outside got in. A perfect fusillade of knocksreverberated through the house， and he heard the scraping ofa 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 atthe same moment he found the monkey’s paw， and franticallybreathed his third and last wish.
The knocking ceased suddenly， although the echoes of itwere still in the house. He heard the chair drawn back， andthe door opened. A cold wind rushed up the staircase， and along loud wail of disappointment and misery from his wifegave him courage to run down to her side， and then to the gatebeyond. The street lamp flickering opposite shone on a quietand deserted road.
