He would not speak to Hester; he would not take an open, manly way of seeing whether his suspicions were just; but, submitting his better parts to his distorted reason, he nursed his anguish, and so it fell out that one night he found himself watching his own house, in the full belief that his wife's illness in the morning before he left for the office was a subterfuge, and that the time had come for her to take some step fatal to her future. "But I will stop it," muttered Dutch to himself, as with throbbing pulse and beating temples he avoided the gate, so as not to have his footsteps heard on the gravel, and, climbing the fence, entered his own garden like a thief. He had hardly reached the little lawn when he heard the sound of wheels, and stepping behind a clump of laurels he stopped, listening with beating heart, for here was food for his suspicions. As he expected, the fly stopped at the gate; a man in a cloak got out, went hastily up the path, knocked softly at the door, and was admitted on the instant. Dutch paused, hesitating as to what he should do. Should he follow and enter? No, he decided that he would stay there, and stop them as they came out, for the fly was waiting. Where would Hester be now? he asked himself, with the dimly-seen house seeming to swim before him; and the answer came as if hissed into his ear by some mocking fiend-- "In her bedroom, getting something for her flight." Half-a-dozen steps over the soft grass took him where he could see the window, and of course there was a light there, and then-- The blood seemed to rush to his brain, a horrible sense of choking came upon him, and he groaned as he staggered back, for there, plainly enough seen, was the figure of Hester, her hair hanging loose as she lay back over the arm of a man, who was half-leading, half-carrying her towards the door. All this in shadow was sharply cost upon the blind, and with a groan of mingled rage and misery Dutch rushed towards the house, but only to totter and fall heavily, for it was as though a sharp blow had been dealt him, and for some time he lay there passive and ignorant of what passed around. He recovered at length, and lay trying to think--to call to mind what this meant. Why was he lying there on the wet grass, with this strange deathly feeling of sickness upon him? Then all came back with a rush, and he rose to his feet to see that the light was still in the bedroom, but the shadows were gone. With a cry of horror he ran to the gate, but the carriage was not there, and he stood listening. Yes, there was the sound of wheels dying away. No, they had stopped, and he was about to rush off in pursuit when a hasty step coming in his direction stayed him, for he knew it well, and, drawing back, he let the Cuban pass him, then followed him softly as he stole round the house, going on tiptoe towards the dining-room window, where Dutch caught him by the shoulder.