"I have seen her," I answered. "What?" "And lost her. I believe she is a little snaky, she has such a slippery way with her." "Tut! tut! so has a frightened deer! But how did it happen?" I told him, and he was quite downcast at the unlucky fortune which had sent me to the cemetery at that particular time. It was evident that she had seen me, and was afraid to return to this new retreat, for fear she was again tracked. "However," said he, "I'm confident we'll have her now before long. I _must_ go home to-night to see my Lenore; I promised her, and she will make herself sick sitting up." "Go; and let me remain here. I will stay until it is perfectly apparent that she does not expect to return." "It will spoil the dinner. But, now that we have sacrificed so much, a few hours more of inconvenience--" "Will be willingly endured. I will get some bread and cheese and a glass of beer of your friend, the penny-grocer, and remain at my post." "You need not stay later than twelve; which will bring you home about two, at the slow rate of midnight travel. I shall sit up for you. _Au revoir._" I changed my mind about supping at the grocer's as the twilight deepened into night. The dim light of the hall and staircase, part of them in total darkness, enabled me to steal up to the deserted room unperceived by any one of the other inmates of the great building. Here I put fresh coal on the fire, and by the faint glow which soon came from the open front of the stove, I found a chair, and placing it so that it would be in the shadow upon the opening of the door, I seated myself to await the return of the occupants. The odor of roasting potatoes, given forth at the increased heat, admonished me that I had partaken of but a light lunch since an early and hasty breakfast; drawing forth one from the oven, I made a frugal meal upon it, and then ordered my soul to patience. I sat long in the twilight of the room; I could hear the bells of the city chiming the passing hours; the grocer and variety-storekeepers closing the shutters of their shops; the shuffling feet of men coming home, to such homes as they had in the dreary building, until nearly all the noises of the street and house died away.