But the stranger had not yet arrived when he reached the room. Over an
hour had elapsed since their strange meeting. A new fear came upon
him: was it possible he had mistaken the hotel, and his benefactor was
awaiting him elsewhere, perhaps even beginning to suspect not only his
gratitude but his honesty! The thought made him hot again, but he was
helpless. Not knowing the stranger's name, he could not inquire without
exposing his situation to the landlord. But again, there was the key,
and it was scarcely possible that it fitted another 74 in another
hotel. He did not dare to leave the room, but sat by the window, peering
through the streaming panes into the storm-swept street below. Gradually
the fatigue his excitement had hitherto kept away began to overcome him;
his eyes once or twice closed during his vigil, his head nodded against
the pane. He rose and walked up and down the room to shake off his
drowsiness. Another hour passed--nine o'clock, blown in fitful, far-off
strokes from some wind-rocked steeple. Still no stranger. How inviting
the bed looked to his weary eyes! The man had told him he wanted rest;
he could lie down on the bed in his clothes until he came. He would
waken quickly and be ready for his benefactor's directions. It was a
great temptation. He yielded to it. His head had scarcely sunk upon the
pillow before he slipped into a profound and dreamless sleep.

He awoke with a start, and for a few moments lay vaguely staring at the
sunbeams that stretched across his bed before he could recall himself.
The room was exactly as before, the portmanteau strapped and pushed
under the table as he had left it. There came a tap at the door--the
chambermaid to do up the room. She had been there once already,
but seeing him asleep, she had forborne to wake him. Apparently the
spectacle of a gentleman lying on the bed fully dressed, even to his
boots, was not an unusual one at that hotel, for she made no comment. It