and longing for him
again made her wretched and sick. Slowly she had returned to the house,
now she stood before the quietly sleepy garden-facade, saw Boris
standing on the porch again, or coming down the garden-paths and
looking into the evening sun with his dreamy eyes, and she again heard
him speaking in his solemn, singing voice of the pain suffered for the
mother-country. How could she go on living without all that? Suddenly
it struck her that a kind of noiseless unrest was going through the
sleeping house. There was light at Lisa's window, and behind the shades
Lisa's shadow moved back and forth. Billy recognized distinctly
the figure in the long nightdress, her loose hair hanging down her
back. "Why doesn't she sleep," she thought, "why is she walking
around?--after all it's my love-affair, not hers." But Aunt Betty's
window next door was also lit up. And there was the shadow of Aunt
Betty's big nightcap, too, and beside it another big nightcap. How the
two nightcaps gently moved toward each other, swaying and quivering.
Why weren't they sleeping, all of them? Was it on her account? And
there on the other side, light there too, and behind the shades another
shadow walking restlessly to and fro. Now the shadow approached the
window, the shade was raised, the window opened, and Billy saw her
father lean out: his hands tore open the shirt at his breast, and in
the scanty moonlight his face seemed quite white, only the open mouth
and eyes laying black shadows on it. So he stood there, drinking in the
night air greedily and anxiously. Billy retreated behind the box-hedge.
She was shivering with fear. Good heavens, what ailed them all! Was
it not as if she had died and were now stealing about the house as
a spirit, to see how all of them were mourning for her in there.
Cautiously keeping to the shadows, she walked over to the avenue of
maples. She felt impelled to look up from there at her balcony and the
window of her room. On the bench facing her window some one was sitting
asleep, his head drooping on his breast. It was Moritz. Billy stood
still before him. The good lad, he had sat here and looked up at her
window; the thought gave her the feeling of a delicious, warm shelter.
Moritz grew restless, opened his eyes, and looked at her.

"Ah, you, Billy," he said, as if he had expected her.

Billy smiled at him. "Have you been sitting here, Moritz, to look up
at my window?"

"Yes," answered Moritz crossly.

"That