I can see him now in the cheerless white hallway, his tall figure exaggerated in a long driving-cloak, his high features sharpened in the light of the lantern.
In taking off my coat I felt, in the pocket, the letter I had written to my engineer in Trenton. I laid it on the hall table. "You might post that to-morrow before you get to New York," I said, casually.
Then I lighted him to his room, and we said "good night."
Undressing mechanically, I went to bed, and after a long time I slept, exhausted.
A rumbling noise; then, after it had ceased, the realization that a carriage had driven out of the yard—that was what woke me up. The clock on my bureau said half past ten. For a moment I forgot what that meant; and then sliding out of bed, I tiptoed quickly down the hall. Putting my ear to Auber's door, I listened—till I had made sure. From within came the dull breathing of a sleeper. Throwing on a few clothes, I went down-stairs. The waitress was dusting in the hall.
"Where has the carriage gone?" I asked her.
"Why, sir," she said, "William is taking Mr. Hurn to the station."
After a while I had the courage to say cautiously, "I thought Mr. Hurn was still asleep; I did not hear him come down."
"He came down ten minutes ago," she replied, "and in a great hurry, with no time for breakfast."