When I replied that I would take a little fresh air at the front door she
asked if at my leisure I would empty and bring in from the window-sill,
around on the garden side of her patient's room a saucer containing the
over-sweetened remains of some orange-leaf tea, that "D.V." had made "for
to wrench out de nerves." She wanted the saucer.

I went outside a step or two and took in a long draught of good air--the
air of a yellow-fever room is dreadful. It was my first breath of mental
relief also; almost the first that night, and the last.

I paced once or twice the short narrow walk between the front flower-beds,
surprised at their well-kept and blooming condition until I remembered
Senda. The moths were out in strong numbers, and it was delightful to
forget graver things for a moment and see the flowers bend coyly under
their passionate kisses and blushingly rise again when the sweet robbery
was finished. So it happened that I came where a glance across to my own
garden showed me, on the side farthest from the nursery, a favorite bush,
made pale by a light that could come only from the entomologist's window!
I went in promptly, told what I proposed to do, and hurried out again.



XIX


I crossed into my garden and silently mounted the balcony stairs I have
mentioned once before. His balcony door was ajar. His room was empty. He
had occupied the bed. A happy thought struck me--to feel the spot where he
had lain; it was still warm. Good! But his clothes were all gone except
his shoes, and they, you remember, were no proof that he was indoors.