_Hostess_.
I cannot tell;
He left, I know, before it was discovered.
In the middle of the storm, like one possessed,
He rushed into the street, half tumbling me
Headlong down stairs, and never came again.
He had paid his bill that morning, luckily;
So joy go with him! Well, he was an odd one!

_Stephen_.
What was he like, fair Hostess?

_Hostess_.
Tall and dark,
And with a lowering look about his brows.
He seldom spoke, but, when he did, was civil.
One queer thing was, he always wore his hat,
Indoors as well as out. I dare not say
He murdered Count Nembroni; but it was strange
He always sat at that same window there,
And looked into the street. 'Tis not as if
There were much traffic in the village now;
These are changed times; but I have seen the day--

_Stephen_.
Excuse me; you were saying that the man
Sat at the window--

_Hostess_.
Yes; even after dark