For Capel had remained up after the others had gone, night after night; blaming himself for behaving in an unfair, unmanly spirit, but unable to control the impulse which led him to long for such another adventure as on that special night.
But after a long day, night watches grow wearisome to the most ardent lovers, and when, after nine nights spent in expectancy, there was no result—no soft, gliding step heard upon stair or floor, both Capel and Preenham grew weary, and retired to their couches like the rest.
It was on the tenth night that Capel, instead of going to bed at once, sat musing over the old lawyer’s words.
Then he began thinking of the doctor’s visit, and at last, taking out his watch, he saw it was close upon two.
The hour made him think of the night when he had encountered Katrine just at that time, and moved by some impulse, he knew not what, he went to his door, softly opened it, and gazed out on to the gloomy staircase, where all was silent as the grave.
No! There was the faint creak of a hinge that had been opened, and, with his heart seeming to stand still, Capel stood in the darkness listening, till, utterly wearied, he was about to close his door, when, so softly that he could hardly distinguish the sweep of the dress, something passed him, going straight to the stairs, and then he could just hear whoever it was descend.