There was a light in the parlor, and he heard the sound of voices.

Ten minutes after, he returned--the light was there still; but though he went by slowly, with noiseless footsteps--listening--not a murmur reached his ears.
"He is there, a subtle tempter, whispering his honeyed allurements!" It was the fiend Jealousy speaking in his heart.

"Madness!" he ejaculated, and he strode up the marble steps.

Grasping the bell, he resolved to enter.

But something held back his hand, and another voice said--"Wait! Wait! A single error now were fatal." Slowly he descended, his ear bent to the windows, listening--slowly, still listening, he moved onwards again; his whole being convulsed in a stronger conflict of passion than he had ever known--reason at fault and perception blindfold.
A full half hour had elapsed, when Dexter reappeared.