He peeped into the little room which he and Sylvia had fitted up as a bedroom for Horace, and it was vacant.
Henry went noiselessly back down-stairs and into his own room.

He lay down without disturbing his wife, but he did not fall asleep.

After what seemed to him a long time he heard a stealthy footstep on the stair, and again smelled the aroma of a cigar which floated down from overhead.
That awoke Sylvia.

"I declare, he's smoking again," she murmured, sleepily.

"It's a dreadful habit." Henry made no reply.