owardice. His
cigar had gone out, and he relighted it. He made an effort to bring his
mind back to O'Connor, and the mystery girl, and Kedsty. He tried to
visualize McTrigger, the man he had saved from the hangman, waiting for
Kedsty in the office at barracks. He pictured the girl, as O'Connor had
described her, with her black hair and blue eyes--and then the storm
broke.

The rain came down in a deluge, and scarcely had it struck when the
door opened and Cardigan hurried in to close the window. He remained
for half an hour, and after that young Mercer, one of his two
assistants, came in at intervals. Late in the afternoon it began to
clear up, and Father Layonne returned with papers properly made out for
Kent's signature. He was with Kent until sundown, when Mercer came in
with supper.

Between that hour and ten o'clock Kent observed a vigilance on the part
of Dr. Cardigan which struck him as being unusual. Four times he
listened with the stethoscope at his chest, but when Kent asked the
question which was in his mind, Cardigan shook his head.

"It's no worse, Kent. I don't think it will happen tonight."

In spite of this assurance Kent was positive there was in Cardigan's
manner an anxiety of a different quality than he had perceived earlier
in the day. The thought was a definite and convincing one. He believed
that Cardigan was smoothing the way with a professional lie.

He had no desire to sleep. His light was turned low, and his window was
open again, for the night had cleared. Never had air tasted sweeter to
him than that which came in through his window. The little bell in his
watch tinkled the hour of eleven, when he heard Cardigan's door close
for a last time across the hall. After that everything was quiet. He
drew himself nearer to the window, so that by leaning forward he could
rest himself partly on the sill. He loved the night. The mystery and
lure of those still hours of darkness when the world slept had never
ceased to hold their fascination for him. Night and he were friends. He
had discovered many of its secrets. A thousand times he had walked hand
in hand with the spirit of it, approaching each time a little nearer to
the heart of it, mastering its life, its sound, the whispering
languages of that "other side of life" which rises quietly and as if in
fear to live and breathe long after the sun has gone out. To him it was
more wonderful than day.

And this night that lay outside his window now w