I have never passed through a longer or more trying hour than the next
one was, and I could tell by the way Swain twitched about in his chair
that he felt the tedium as much as I. Once or twice I tried to start a
conversation, but it soon trickled dry; and we ended by smoking away
moodily and staring out into the darkness.

At last Swain sprang to his feet.

"I can't stand this any longer," he said. "I'm going over the wall."

I struck a match and looked at my watch.

"It isn't eleven o'clock yet," I warned him.

"I don't care. Perhaps she'll be ahead of time. Anyway, I might as
well wait there as here."

"Come on, then," I agreed, for I felt myself that another such hour
would be unendurable.

Together we made our way back to the shed and took down the ladders. A
moment later, we were at the wall. Swain placed his ladder against it,
and mounted quickly to the top. As he paused there, I handed him up
the other one. He caught it from my hands, lifted it over the wall,
and lowered it carefully on the other side. As he did so, I heard him
give a muffled exclamation of mingled pain and annoyance, and knew
that he had cut himself.

"Not bad, is it?" I asked.