air and loitering for a few minutes in sight
of the house that sheltered her. She might be on the balcony outside her
room, or beneath the portico of the garden door, so that he should catch
the flutter of her dress. That would be enough for him--to-night. He
might make it enough for the next night and the next. After absence and
distance, it seemed much.

County Street was as he had known it on every warm summer night since he
was a boy, and yet conveyed that impression which every summer night
conveys, of being the first and only one of its kind. The sky was
majestically high and clear and spangled, with the Scorpion and the red
light of Antares well above the city's amber glow. Along the streets and
lanes dim trees rustled faintly, casting gigantic trembling shadows in
the circles of the electric lights. The breeze being from the east and
south, the tang of sea-salt mingled with the strong, dry scent of
new-mown hay and the blended perfumes of a countryside of gardens. All
doors were open as he passed along, and so were all windows. On all
verandas and porches and steps faint figures could be discerned,
low-voiced for the most part, but sending out an occasional laugh or
snatch of song. Thor knew who the people were; many of them were
friends; to some of them he was related; there were few with whom he
hadn't ties antedating birth. It was soothing to him, as he slipped
along in the heavy shadow of the elms, to know that they were near.

* * * * *

On approaching his father's house, which he expected to find dark, he
was astonished to see a light. It was a light like a blurred star, on
one of the upper floors. From what window it shone he found it difficult
to say, the mass of the house being lost in the general obscurity. The
strange thing was that it should be there.

He passed slowly within the gate and along the few yards of the
driveway, pausing from time to time in order to place the quiet beacon
in this room or in that, according to the angle from which it seemed to
burn. He was not alarmed; he was only curious. It was no furtive light.
Though the curtains were closed, it displayed itself boldly in the eyes
of the neighbors and of the two or three ornamental constables who made
their infrequent rounds in County Street. He could only attribute it to
old Maggs, who lived in the coachman's cottage at the far end of the
property, though as to what old Maggs could be doing in the ho