t to do so, but
the very thought filled him with a fury of jealousy. It would be an
easy matter, he reflected, to tiptoe down the driveway behind the
trees, to gain the shadow of the house, and to peep into one of the
kitchen windows. Of course they were dark, but he wished to be assured
of it. Let him once discover that the house was closed for the night,
and he would be content.

As he began to put his plan into execution, gliding stealthily from
tree to tree and pausing to look and listen from the shelter of each
shadow, he was acutely aware of the fact that it was the mayor of
Warwick who was doing this thing. The realisation could not stay his
progress or change his purpose. After all, she would probably not be
there; and if the bishop's coachman or some servant should come out and
find him, his explanation was ready. The driveway passed by the
bishop's stable and on through the square to the street beyond. He
would say that he was making a short cut, and the explanation would be
plausible. From time to time he stifled a cough with difficulty, and
it was this difficulty alone that almost persuaded him to turn back.

It was by no strange coincidence or accident that Lena remained reading
by the lamp in the large, deserted kitchen. She might have been seen
there, as Emmet saw her now, almost every evening after the others had
gone to bed, poring over some paper-covered novel that depicted a life
of romance quite different from the dull monotony of her own days. But
though she herself was wide awake with the interest of the story, her
good angel had gone to sleep, and left her there, unwarned, to face her
peril alone.

Emmet ventured to thrust his head for a moment into the bar of light
that cut the deep shadow of the house, and saw that his most
extravagant hopes were fulfilled. He saw also that she was prettily
dressed, with a red velvet ribbon about her throat, her hair showing a
careful and coquettish arrangement. He was convinced that she had
dressed herself thus for a lover, and he meant to call her to account.

Little by little he crept closer, until he stood beside the window, his
back against the wall. He had only to turn and lean forward and look
her in the face. His eyes searched the wide stretches of the lawn in
vain for a sign of life. The stable was dark, the house was silent.
Only he and Lena were awake. No thought of pity for her softened his
heart at that moment. He only chafed in