Then again he smiled, but this
time more wickedly--in what he believed his cynicism had sprung up the
first instinct of revenge!
It was now dark enough for him to venture across the carriage road and
make his way to the rear of the house. His first characteristic instinct
had been to enter openly at his own front gate, but the terrible
temptation to overhear and watch the conspiracy unobserved--that
fascination common to deceived humanity to witness its own shame--had
now grown upon him. He knew that a word or gesture of explanation,
apology, appeal, or even terror from his wife would check his rage and
weaken his purpose. His perfect knowledge of the house and the security
of its inmates would enable him from some obscure landing or gallery
to participate in any secret conclave they might hold in the patio--the
only place suitable for so numerous a rendezvous. The absence of light
in the few external windows pointed to this central gathering. And he
had already conceived his plan of entrance.
Gaining the rear wall of the casa he began cautiously to skirt its
brambly base until he had reached a long, oven-like window half
obliterated by a monstrous passion vine. It was the window of what had
once been Mrs.
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