to go, whispered to him to leave the intruder alone, to let the intruder
do what he would, but not to approach him, above all, not to look upon
his face. And the man obeyed the voice till a thing happened which roused
in him a powerful beast, called by many the natural man.

He saw his wife, whom he loved in his way, though he had tricked and
deceived her again and again, cross the window space, smiling, and
disappear with a downward movement, as the other had disappeared. Then
she rose into his range of vision, and stood for a moment so that he
could see her clearly, smiling, talking, making little gestures that
he knew, carrying her hand to her face, stretching it out, dropping it.
Finally she lifted it to her lips, half-closing her eyes at the same
time, took it away quickly, with a sort of butterfly motion, and
vanished, going toward the left, where the room door was.

So had she many and many a time bidden him, her husband, good night.
Instantly, with an impulse which seemed combined of rage and terror,
both now full of a driving force which was irresistible, the man sprang
forward to the window, seized the stone coping with his hands and stared
into his room.

Seated in a round chair at his writing-table, by a lamp with a green
shade, was the man who had entered his house. He was writing busily in
a book with a silver clasp that could be locked with a key, and he leaned
a little over the table with his head turned away. The shape of his head,
his posture, even the manner in which he used his pen as he traced line
after line in the book, made an abominable impression upon the man
staring in at the window. But the face--the face! He must see that! And
he leaned forward, trembling, but fiercely, and, pressing his own face
against the pane, he looked at the occupant of his room as men look