Not a young man's interest, but yet an interest as critical and acute as though he had expected it to be shared by one whose comfort he sought and in whose happiness he would fain take part.
This, to Sweetwater, had he our vision, would have been incomprehensible from any point of view; especially, had he seen what followed when the owner of all this luxury returned to his library.
There was a picture there; a small framed photograph which occupied the post of honor on his desk.
It showed a young and pretty face, untouched, as yet, by the cares or troubles of this world.

He spent a minute or so in looking at it; then he slowly lifted it, and taking the picture from the frame, gave it another look, during which a smile almost derisive gathered slowly on his lips.
Before this smile had altogether vanished, he had torn the picture in two and thrown the fragments into the fire he had kindled early in the evening with his own hands.
If he stopped to watch these fragments burn, it was from abstraction rather than from interest; for his step grew lighter as he left the fireplace.

Whatever this young girl's face had meant to him in days gone by was now as completely dissipated as the little puff of smoke which had marked the end of her picture.
If he read the papers afterward it was mechanically.

Night, and the one great planet sinking in the West, appeared to appeal to him much more strongly than his books or the more than usually stirring news of the day.
He must have stood an hour in his unlighted window, gazing out at the tumbling waves lapping the shore.
But of his thoughts, God wot, he gave no sign.
Later, he slept.
Slept! with his hand under his pillow! Slept, though there were others in the house awake!--or why this creeping shadow of a man outlined upon the wall wherever the moon shone in, and disappearing from sight whenever the way led through darkness.
It came from above; no noise accompanied it.

Where the great window opened upon the sea, lighting up the main staircase, it halted,--halted for several minutes; then passed stealthily down, a shadowy silhouette, descending now quickly, now slowly, as tread after tread is left behind and the great hall is reached.
Here there is no darkness.