"I know, because I saw—" she hesitated.
"Saw what?"
"The light in your window."
"My window?"
"Yes. The one that looks out on the garden at the back. It was twelve o'clock on Sunday night, and on Monday night the light was gone, and I knew that you were better."
"As it happens, you saw the light in my sister's room. She's always ill."
"Oh," said Maggie; and her face fell with the fall of her great argument.
"Sometimes," he said, "the light burns all night long."
"Yes," said Maggie, musing; "sometimes it burns all night long. But in the room above that room, there's a little soft light that burns all night, too. That's your room."
"No, that's my wife's room."