In the darkness he groped about until he had found and wrung his
companion's hand again. He would have detained it, but Jack slipped it
into the buttoned breast of his coat, and asked, listlessly, "How long
has this been going on?"

"Ever since she came here; ever since the day she walked into the
Magnolia. I was a fool then; Jack, I'm a fool now; but I didn't know how
much I loved her till then. And she hasn't been the same woman since.

"But that ain't all, Jack; and it's what I wanted to see you about, and
I'm glad you've come. It ain't that she doesn't love me any more; it
ain't that she fools with every chap that comes along, for, perhaps, I
staked her love and lost it, as I did everything else at the Magnolia;
and, perhaps, foolin' is nateral to some women, and thar ain't no great
harm done, 'cept to the fools. But, Jack, I think--I think she loves
somebody else. Don't move, Jack; don't move; if your pistol hurts ye,
take it off.

"It's been more'n six months now that she's seemed unhappy and lonesome,
and kinder nervous and scared-like. And sometimes I've ketched her
lookin' at me sort of timid and pitying. And she writes to somebody.
And for the last week she's been gathering her own things--trinkets,
and furbelows, and jew'lry--and, Jack, I think she's goin' off. I could
stand all but that. To have her steal away like a thief--" He put his
face downward to the pillow, and for a few moments there was no sound
but the ticking of a clock on the mantel. Mr. Hamlin lit a cigar, and
moved to the open window. The moon no longer shone into the room, and
the bed and its occupant were in shadow. "What shall I do, Jack?" said
the voice from the darkness.