something."

I stood upon the bench, from where I could look out above the weeds and
tangled bushes, and followed her course to the house. At top of the
steps she paused an instant to glance back, and then disappeared
within. I waited patiently, knowing that if she failed to discover the
housekeeper, she would give some signal. Meanwhile I watched the
weed-grown area about me carefully in search of any skulker observing
our movements. I could see little through the tangle, yet succeeded in
convincing myself that I was alone, and free to begin my explorations.
Yet I faced this work with less enthusiasm than I felt when first
proposing it. The knowledge that Philip Henley was alive; that any
discoveries I might make would benefit him even more than his wife, had
robbed me of my earlier interest in the outcome. Nothing I had heard
of the man was favorable to his character. I felt profoundly convinced
that whatever affection his wife might have once entertained for him
had long ago vanished through neglect and abuse. My sympathies were
altogether with her, and I had already begun to dream of her as free.
She had come into contact with my life in such a way as to impress me
greatly; we had been thrown together in strange familiarity. Little by
little I had grown to appreciate her beauty, not only of face, but also
of womanly character. Already she swayed and controlled me as no other
of her sex ever had. I thrilled to the touch of her hand, to the sweep
of her dress, and the glance of her eye. Not until now did I realize
fully all she had unconsciously become to me, or how I dreaded the
reappearance of Henley. Would she return to him? Would she forgive
the past? These were haunting questions from which I found no escape.
I could not be ignorant of the fact that she liked me, trusted me as a
friend. But beyond this rather colorless certainty I possessed no
assurance. I thought I had read a deeper meaning in her eyes, enough