unconsciously, he turned and walked westward. It
was getting late; before long the theatres would be emptying: he might
have a peep of Sepia as she came out!--but where was the good when that
fellow was with her! "But," thought Tom, growing more and more daring
as in an adventurous dream, "why should I not go to the house, and see
her after he has left her at the door?"

He went to the house and rang the bell. The man came, and said
immediately that Miss Yolland was out, but had desired him to ask Mr.
Helmer to wait; whereupon Tom walked in, and up the stair to the
drawing-room, thence into a second and a third drawing-room, and from
the last into the conservatory. The man went down and finished his
second, pint of ale. From the conservatory, Tom, finding himself in
danger of havoc among the flower-pots, turned back into the third room,
threw himself on a couch, and fell fast asleep.

He woke in the middle of the night in pitch darkness; and it was some
time before he could remember where he was. When he did, he recognized
that he was in an awkward predicament. But he knew the house well, and
would make the attempt to get out undiscovered. It was foolish, but Tom
was foolish. Feeling his way, he knocked down a small table with a
great crash of china, and, losing his equanimity, rushed for the stair.
Happily the hall lamp was still alight, and he found no trouble with
bolts or lock: the door was not any way secured.

The first breath of the cold night-air brought with it such a gush of
joy as he had rarely experienced; and he trod the silent streets with
something of the pleasure of an escaped criminal, until, alas! the
wind, at the first turning, let him know that he had left his hat
behind him! He felt as if he had committed a murder, and left his
card-case with the body. A vague terror grew upon him as he hurried
along. Justice seemed following on his track. He had found the door on
the latch: if anything was missing, how should he explain the presence
of his hat without his own? The devil of the brandy he had drunk was
gone out of him, and only the gray ashes of its evil fire were left in
his sick brain, but it had helped first to kindle another fire, which
was now beginning to glow unsuspected--that of a fever whose fuel had
been slowly gathering for some time.

He opened the door with his pass-key, and hurried up the stair, his
long legs taking three steps at a time. Never before had he felt as if
he were flee