walking into church in her nightgear. She was sure that she must not
move, and the more so because at a very slight motion of hers there had
been a motion as if in response from the man on the porch. Then there
was another drawback. Some roses grew behind the hollyhocks, and her
skirt was caught. She had felt a little pull at her skirt when she
essayed a slight tentative motion. Therefore, in order to fly she could
not merely slip away; she would have to make extra motions to
disentangle her dress. She therefore remained perfectly still in the
attitude of shrinking and flight. She thought that her only course until
the man should wake and enter the house; then she could slip away. She
had not much fear of being discovered unless by motion; she stood in
shadow. Besides, the man had no reason whatever to apprehend the
presence of a girl in his garden at that hour, and would not be looking
for her. She had an intuitive feeling that unless she moved he would not
perceive her. Cramps began to assail even her untrammelled limbs. To
maintain one pose so long was almost an impossible feat. She kept hoping
that he would wake, that he must wake. It did not seem possible that he
could sit there much longer and not wake; and yet the night was so
hot--hot, probably, even in the great square rooms of the old Ware
house. It was quite natural that he should prefer sleeping there in the
cool out-of-door if he could, but an unreasoning rage seized upon her
that he should. She rebelled against the very freedom in another which
she had always coveted for herself.

And still he sat there, as white and beautiful and motionless as a
statue, and still she kept her enforced attitude. She suffered tortures,
but she said to herself that she would not yield, that she would not
move. Rather than have that man discover her at that hour in his garden,
she would suffer everything. It did not occur to her that possibly this
suffering might have consequences which she did not foresee. All that