Henry went noiselessly back down-stairs and into his own room. He lay
down without disturbing his wife, but he did not fall asleep. After
what seemed to him a long time he heard a stealthy footstep on the
stair, and again smelled the aroma of a cigar which floated down from
overhead.

That awoke Sylvia. "I declare, he's smoking again," she murmured,
sleepily. "It's a dreadful habit."

Henry made no reply. He breathed evenly, pretending to be asleep.



Chapter V


Although it was easy for a man, especially for a young marriageable
man, to obtain board in East Westland, it was not so easy for a
woman; and the facts of her youth and good looks, and presumably
marriageable estate, rendered it still more difficult. There was in
the little village a hotel, so-called, which had formerly been the
tavern. It was now the East Westland House. Once it had been the Sign
of the Horse. The old sign-board upon which a steed in flaming red,
rampant upon a crude green field against a crude blue sky, had been
painted by some local artist, all unknown to fame, and long since at
rest in the village graveyard, still remained in the hotel attic,
tilted under the dusty eaves.

The Sign of the Horse had been in former days a flourishing hostelry,
before which, twice a day, the Boston and the Alford stages had drawn