The look of his face--what had there been about his face which seemed different from its appearance as of yore?
Was it not thinner, less rich in hue, less like that of ripe autumn's brother to whom she had formerly compared him?
And his voice; she had distinctly noticed a change in tone.

And his gait; surely it had been feebler, stiffer, more like the gait of a weary man.

That slight occasional noise she had heard in the day, and attributed to squirrels, it might have been his cough after all.
Thus conviction took root in her perturbed mind that Winterborne was ill, or had been so, and that he had carefully concealed his condition from her that she might have no scruples about accepting a hospitality which by the nature of the case expelled her entertainer.
"My own, own, true l----, my dear kind friend!" she cried to herself.
"Oh, it shall not be--it shall not be!" She hastily wrapped herself up, and obtained a light, with which she entered the adjoining room, the cot possessing only one floor.

Setting down the candle on the table here, she went to the door with the key in her hand, and placed it in the lock.

Before turning it she paused, her fingers still clutching it; and pressing her other hand to her forehead, she fell into agitating thought.
A tattoo on the window, caused by the tree-droppings blowing against it, brought her indecision to a close.