In some favored lands, where the almanac is an infallible Clerk of the
Weather, fine nights succeed each other with the monotonous regularity
of kings in an Amurath dynasty. But the British climate, a slave to no
such ordered sequence, scatters or withholds these magic hours almost
impartially throughout the seasons, so that June may demand overcoats
and umbrellas, and October invite Summer raiment.

Hence this superb Summer's night found certain folk in Roxton
disinclined to forego its enchantments. Trenholme, trying to persuade
himself that his brooding gaze rested on the Elizabethan roofs and
gables rising above the trees because of some rarely spiritual quality
in the atmosphere, suddenly awoke to the fact that the hour was
eleven.

Some men issued from the bar parlor and "snug" beneath, and there were
sounds of bolts being shot home and keys turned in recognition of the
curfew imposed by the licensing laws. Then the artistic temperament
arose in revolt. Chafing already against the narrow confines of the
best room the White Horse Inn could provide, it burst all bounds when
a tired potman attempted unconsciously to lock it in.

Grabbing a pipe and tobacco pouch, Trenholme ran downstairs, meeting
the potman in the passage.

"Get me a key, Bill," he said. "I simply can't endure the notion of
bed just yet, so I'm off for a stroll. I don't want to keep any one
waiting up, and I suppose I can have a key of sorts."

Now it happened that the proprietor of the inn was absent at a race
meeting, and Eliza was in charge. Trenholme's request was passed on to
her, and a key was forthcoming.

Hatless, pipe in mouth, and hands in pockets, Trenholme sauntered into
the village street. Romance was either a dull jade or growing old and
sedate in Roxton. Nearly every house was in darkness, and more than
one dog barked because of a passing footstep.

About half past eleven, Sylvia Manning, sitting in melancholy near her
window after an hour of musing, heard a light tap on the door.

"Come in," she said, recognizing the reason of this late intrusion. An
elderly woman entered. She was an attendant charged with special care
of Mrs. Fenley. A trained nurse would have refused to adopt the
lenient treatment of the patient enjoined by the late head of the
family, so this woman was engaged because she was honest, faithful,
rather stupid and obeyed orders.

"She has quieted down now, miss, and is fast asleep," she said in a
low tone. "