He had just resolved that he would go to the hotel and implore Mrs.
Floyd to let him see Harriet if only for a moment, when he noticed a
shadow on the wall of the room. It looked like some one sitting at a
table. He decided that it must be Mrs. Floyd watching by Harriet's
bed, and in imagination he saw the girl lying there white and
unconscious. Suddenly, however, the shadow disappeared. The figure
rose into the light and crossed the room. It was Harriet. She wore
the same gown she had worn an hour before. She stood for a moment in
the light, as if placing something on the mantel-piece, and then
resumed her seat at the table. The shadow was on the wall again. He
looked at it steadily for twenty minutes. His feet had sunk deeper
into the loam and felt wet and cold. Slowly he trudged back through
the lane. Mrs. Floyd had lied to him. The girl was not ill. At the
street corner he stopped. For an instant he was tempted to go to the
hotel and ask Mrs. Floyd if he could see Harriet for a moment, that he
might catch her in another lie, and then and there face her in it, but
he felt too sick at heart.
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