in and again, and
again--ay, and for many a day after--how strange it was that she had
interrupted me on two such occasions when touching on such a theme.

There was certainly some strange web of accidents, in whose meshes we
were all involved.

Chapter VII

The Traveller's Loss

That night everything went well. Knowing that Miss Trelawny herself
was not on guard, Doctor Winchester and I doubled our vigilance. The
Nurses and Mrs. Grant kept watch, and the Detectives made their visit
each quarter of an hour. All night the patient remained in his trance.
He looked healthy, and his chest rose and fell with the easy breathing
of a child. But he never stirred; only for his breathing he might have
been of marble. Doctor Winchester and I wore our respirators, and
irksome they were on that intolerably hot night. Between midnight and
three o'clock I felt anxious, and had once more that creepy feeling to
which these last few nights had accustomed me; but the grey of the
dawn, stealing round the edges of the blinds, came with inexpressible
relief, followed by restfulness, went through the household. During
the hot night my ears, strained to every sound, had been almost
painfully troubled; as though my brain or sensoria were in anxious
touch with them. Every breath of the Nurse or the rustle of her dress;
every soft pat of slippered feet, as the Policeman went his rounds;
every moment of watching life, seemed to be a new impetus to
guardianship. Something of the same feeling must have been abroad in
the house; now and again I could hear upstairs the sound of restless
feet, and more than once downstairs the opening of a window. With the
coming of the dawn, however, all this ceased, and the whole household
seemed to rest. Doctor Winchester went home when Sister Doris came to
relieve Mrs. Grant. He was, I think, a little disappointed or
chagrined that nothing of an exceptional nature had happened during his
long night vigil.

At eight o'clock Miss Trelawny joined us, and I was amazed as well as
delighted to see how much good her night's sleep had done her. She was
fairly radiant; just as I had seen her at our first meeting and at the
picnic. There was even a suggestion of colour in her cheeks, which,
however, looked startlingly white in contrast with her black brows and
scarlet lips. With her restored strength, there seemed to have come a
tenderness even exceeding that which she had at first shown to her si