He sprang from his bed, lit a candle, went to the desk where the unopened letter lay, and took it out.

With the feeling that he must destroy this record, this unread but, as he knew, ugly record of their differences, and so clear her memory of any cruelty, of any act of anger, he was about to hold it to the flame of the candle when he thought he heard a sound behind him as of the door of his room gently closing.

Laying the letter down, he went to the door and opened it.

There was no one stirring.

Yet he had a feeling as though some one was there in the darkness.