fearing an accident. No other thought had occurred to her; but when
she saw him in the doorway, a ray from the autumn moon falling on his
discomposed face, she understood.

For a moment they looked at each other in silence; then, as he put his
foot across the threshold, she stretched out her arm and stopped him.

"You go right back from here," she said, in a shrill voice that startled
her; "you ain't going to have that key tonight."

"Charity, let me in. I don't want the key. I'm a lonesome man," he
began, in the deep voice that sometimes moved her.

Her heart gave a startled plunge, but she continued to hold him back
contemptuously. "Well, I guess you made a mistake, then. This ain't your
wife's room any longer."

She was not frightened, she simply felt a deep disgust; and perhaps he
divined it or read it in her face, for after staring at her a moment
he drew back and turned slowly away from the door. With her ear to her
keyhole she heard him feel his way down the dark stairs, and toward
the kitchen; and she listened for the crash of the cupboard panel, but
instead she heard him, after an interval, unlock the door of the house,
and his heavy steps came to her through the silence as he walked down
the path. She crept to the window and saw his bent figure striding up
the road in the moonlight. Then a belated sense of fear came to her
with the consciousness of victory, and she slipped into bed, cold to the
bone.