He leaned farther forward, feeling with his hand, and suddenly a string of Ethne's violin twanged loud.

She had left it lying on the chair, and his fingers had touched it.
Durrance drew himself up straight and stood quite motionless and silent, like a man who had suffered a shock and is bewildered.

He passed his hand across his forehead once or twice, and then, without calling upon Ethne again, he advanced to the open window.
Mrs.Adair did not move, and she held her breath.

There was just the width of the sill between them.

The moonlight struck full upon Durrance, and she saw a comprehension gradually dawn in his face that some one was standing close to him.
"Ethne," he said a third time, and now he appealed.
He stretched out a hand timidly and touched her dress.
"It is not Ethne," he said with a start.
"No, it is not Ethne," Mrs.Adair answered quickly.