Chapter 17

           Iwentsofar,intheevening,astomakeabeginning.Theweatherhadchangedback,agreatwindwasabroad,andbeneaththelamp,inmyroom,withFloraatpeacebesideme,Isatforalongtimebeforeablanksheetofpaperandlistenedtothelashoftherainandthebatterofthegusts.FinallyIwentout,takingacandle;IcrossedthepassageandlistenedaminuteatMiles’sdoor.What,undermyendlessobsession,Ihadbeenimpelledtolistenforwassomebetrayalofhisnotbeingatrest,andIpresentlycaughtone,butnotintheformIhadexpected.Hisvoicetinkledout.“Isay,youthere—comein.”Itwasagaietyinthegloom!

           Iwentinwithmylightandfoundhim,inbed,verywideawake,butverymuchathisease.“Well,whatareyouupto?”heaskedwithagraceofsociabilityinwhichitoccurredtomethatMrs.Grose,hadshebeenpresent,mighthavelookedinvainforproofthatanythingwas“out.”

           Istoodoverhimwithmycandle.“HowdidyouknowIwasthere?”

           “Why,ofcourseIheardyou.Didyoufancyyoumadenonoise?You’relikeatroopofcavalry!”hebeautifullylaughed.

           “Thenyouweren’tasleep?”

           “Notmuch!Ilieawakeandthink.”

           Ihadputmycandle,designedly,ashortwayoff,andthen,asheheldouthisfriendlyoldhandtome,hadsatdownontheedgeofhisbed.“Whatisit,”Iasked,“thatyouthinkof?”

           “Whatintheworld,mydear,butyou?”

           “Ah,theprideItakeinyourappreciationdoesn’tinsistonthat!Ihadsofarratheryouslept.