bushiness of its garden and then, barring the night sky, the skeleton of
a new building. The sight gave him a disagreeable shock; anything that
let more life and light into that secluded backwater was a menace. He
approached, anxiously scanning it. It took the place of old rookeries,
demolished in his absence, one side rising gaunt and high against Mrs.
Meeker's. He leaned from the front steps and looked over the fence; the
separation between the two walls was not more than two or three feet.

His room was on the top floor in the back, and gaining it, he jerked up
the shade and looked out. Formerly a row of dreary yards extended to the
houses in the rear. Now the frame of the new building filled them in,
projecting in sketchy outline to the end of the lots. Disturbed he
studied it--four stories, a hotel, apartments, or offices. Whatever it
was it would be bad for him, bringing men so close to his lair.

He stood for some time gazing out, saw a late, lopsided moon swim into
the sky and by its light the yard below develop a beauty of glistening
leaves and fretted shadows. The windows of the houses beyond the fence
shone bright, glazed with a pallid luster. Even Mrs. Meeker's stable,
wherein she kept her horse and cart, the one relic saved from better
days, stood out darkly picturesque amid the frosted silver of vines. He
saw nothing of all this, only the black skeleton which would soon be
astir with the life he shunned.

He drew down the shade and dropped heavily into a chair, his feet
sprawled, his chin sunk on his breast. The single gas jet emitted a
torn yellow flame that issued from the burner with a stuttering,
ripping sound. The light gilded the bosses of his face, wax-smooth
above the shadowed hollows, and it looked even older than it had in
sleep. His spirit drooped in a somber exhaustion--he was so tired of it