When at last she was free from these occupations she threw a cloak around her shoulders and went out on the piazza. The night was dark and still, and as she listened she could hear voices and sounds from the other house--a door close, a window put down, a call to a dog, the rattle of his chain. Then she heard the shrill whistle, which she knew was the summons for the man from the stable, and after a few moments she heard Mr. Andrews' voice on the piazza. With an impulse that she made no attempt to resist, she went down the steps and ran quickly across the lawn, and, standing behind the gate, under the heavy shadow of the trees, strained her eyes through the darkness, and gazed over toward the next house. Mr. Andrews was talking with the man, who presently went away, and then he walked up and down on the piazza slowly; it was easy to hear his regular tread upon the boards, and to see a dark figure cross the lighted windows. That was as near as he would ever be to her again, perhaps. After a few moments he came down the steps, walked slowly along the path, and stood leaning against the gate. She could see the spark of his cigar. They were not two hundred feet apart. If she had spoken in her ordinary tone, he could have heard her; the stillness of the night was unusual. There was no breeze, no rustle of the leaves overhead; no one was moving, apparently, at either house--no one passing along the road. Her heart beat so violently she put both hands over it to smother the sound. Why should she not speak? It was her last chance, her very last. If the night had not been so dark, she might have spoken. If the stars had been shining, or moonlight had made it possible for them to see each other, if the hour had been earlier, if there had been any issue but one, from the speaking--if, in fact, it were not what it was, to speak, she might have spoken. The minutes passed--how long, and yet how swift, they were in passing. She had made no decision in her own mind what to do; she meant to speak, and yet something in her held her back from speaking. There are some things we do without thought, they do themselves without any help from us, and so this thing was done, and a great moment in two lives was lost--or gained perhaps, who knows? She stood spell-bound as she saw the tiny spark of light waver, then, tossed away, drop down and go out in the damp grass. Then she heard him turn and go slowly towards the house--always slowly, she could have spoken a hundred times before he reached the piazza steps. Then he took a turn or two up and down the piazza, and then, opening the front door, went in, shutting it behind him.