William Edgerton was a master of the flute. Often before, when we were the best friends, had I listened with delight, while he compelled it into discourse of music wild and somewhat incoherent still: his present performance had now attained more continuousness and character. It was still mournful, but its sorrows rose and fell naturally, in compliance with the laws of art. I listened till I could listen no longer. Human patience must have its limits. My wife still slept. I descended the stairs, opened the door with as much cautiousness as possible, and prepared to grapple the musician and haul him into the light. It might be Edgerton or not. I was morally sure it was. By grappling with him, in such a situation, I should bring the affair to a final issue, though it might not be a murderous one. But of that I did not think; I went forward to do something; what that something was to be, it was left for time and chance to determine. But, suddenly, as I opened the door, the music ceased. Stepping into the yard, I heard the sound as of a falling body. I naturally concluded that he had heard the opening of the door, and had suffered himself to drop down to the ground. I took for granted that he had descended on the opposite side of the yard and within the enclosure of a neighbor. I leaped the fence, hurried to the tree, traversed the grounds, and found nobody. I returned, reached my own premises, and found the gate open which opened upon the street. He had gone then in that direction. I turned into this street, posted with all speed to the corner of the square and met only the watchman. I asked, but he had seen nobody. The street was perfectly quiet, I returned, reascended to my chamber, found Julia now awake, and evidently much agitated. She had arisen in my absence, and was only about to re-enter the bed when I rushed up stairs. What was I to think? What fear? I was too conscious of the suspicious nature of my thoughts and fears to suffer myself to ask any questions--and she, unhappily for both of us--she said nothing. Had she but spoken--had she but uttered the natural inquiry--“Did you hear that strange music, husband?”--how much easier had been her extrication. But she was silent, and I was again let loose upon a wide sea of fears and doubts and damnable apprehensions. Once more, and now with a feeling which would not have made me forbear the use of any weapon, however deadly, I re-examined my own enclosure, but in vain. The horrible thought which possessed me was that he had even penetrated the dwelling while I was seeking him in the street; that they had met; and how was I to know the degree of tenderness which had marked their meeting and sweetness to their adieus! CHAPTER XXXIX. THE NEW HOME.