She had known him before--had met him in Washington; he had been polite to her on one or two occasions, and it was natural that she should wish to be civil, at least while he was sick.

But the lady in No.

101--the Miss Bigelow for whom he had discarded his boots and trodden on tiptoe half the time since his arrival--why she should care for him he could not guess; and finally deciding that it was a part of Clifton, where everybody was so kind, he put the bouquet in the tumbler Mary had brought and placed it on the stand beside him.

He was very restless that night, and Ethie heard the watchman at his door twice asking if he wanted anything.
"Nothing," was the reply, and the voice, heard distinctly in the stillness of the night, was so faint and sad that Ethie hid her face in her pillow and sobbed bitterly, while the intense longing to see him grew so strong within her that by morning the resolution was taken to risk everything for the sake of looking upon him again.
He did not require an attendant at night--he preferred being alone, she had ascertained; and she knew that his door was constantly left open for the admission of fresh air.

The watchman only came into the hall once an hour or thereabouts, and while Richard slept it would be comparatively easy for her to steal into his room.