behind them were the two long rows of pale violet
lights that used to bloom so beautifully against the grey stone and
asphalt. Here and yonder about the Square hung globes that shed a
radiance not unlike the blue mists of evening, emerging softly when
daylight died, as the stars emerged in the thin blue sky. Under them the
sharp shadows of the trees fell on the cracked pavement and the sleeping
grass. The first stars and the first lights were growing silver against
the gradual darkening, when Hedger paid his driver and went into the
house,--which, thank God, was still there! On the hall table lay his
letter of yesterday, unopened.

He went upstairs with every sort of fear and every sort of hope clutching
at his heart; it was as if tigers were tearing him. Why was there no gas
burning in the top hall? He found matches and the gas bracket. He
knocked, but got no answer; nobody was there. Before his own door were
exactly five bottles of milk, standing in a row. The milk-boy had taken
spiteful pleasure in thus reminding him that he forgot to stop his order.

Hedger went down to the basement; it, too, was dark. The janitress was
taking her evening airing on the basement steps. She sat waving a
palm-leaf fan majestically, her dirty calico dress open at the neck. She
told him at once that there had been "changes." Miss Bower's room was to
let again, and the piano would go tomorrow. Yes, she left yesterday, she
sailed for Europe with friends from Chicago. They arrived on Friday,
heralded by many telegrams. Very rich people they were said to be,
though the man had refused to pay the nurse a month's rent in lieu of
notice,--which would have been only right, as the young lady had agreed
to take the rooms until October. Mrs. Foley had observed, too, that he
didn't overpay her or Willy for their trouble, and a great deal of
trouble they had been put to, certainly. Yes, the young lady was very
pleasant, but the nurse said there were rings on the mahogany table where
she had put tumblers and wine glasses. It was just as well she was gone.
The Chicago man was uppish in his ways, but not much to look at. She
supposed he had poor health, for there was nothing to him inside his
clothes.

Hedger went slowly up the stairs--never had they seemed so long, or his
legs so heavy. The upper floor was emptiness and silence. He unlocked
his room, lit the gas, and opened the windows. When he went to put his
coat in the closet, he found, hanging a