All was as it had been when he set out; there was no sign of change nor movement.

The inn, with its drawn-down blinds, seemed itself asleep.

The front-door had been left ajar, doubtless by Harry; he pushed his way in, and silently shut it to, and shot the bolt; then he took off his boots, and walked softly up stairs in his stockinged feet.

He knew that there was at least one person in that house who was listening with beating heart for every noise.
The ways of clandestine love have been justly described as "full of cares and troubles, of fears and jealousies, of impatient waiting, tediousness of delay, and sufferance of affronts, and amazements of discovery;" and though Richard Yorke had never read those words of our great English divine, he had already begun to exemplify them, and was doomed to prove them to the uttermost..