I drew back more mystified than ever.  Which of these two men had told me a lie?  One, both, or neither?  Impossible to determine.  As I try never to waste gray matter, I resolved to spend no further energy on this question, but simply to await the next development.

It came unexpectedly and was of an entirely different nature from any I had anticipated.

I had not retired, not knowing at what moment the mayor might return or what I might be called upon to do when he did.  It will be remembered that one of my windows looked out upon the next house.  I approached it to see if my ever watchful neighbors had retired.  Their window was dark, but I observed what was of much more vital interest to me at that moment.  It was that I was not the only one awake and stirring in our house.  The light from a room diagonally below me poured in a stream on the opposite wall, and it took but a moment’s consideration for me to decide that the shadow I saw crossing and recrossing this brilliant square was cast by Mrs. Packard.

My first impulse was to draw back—­(that was the lady’s impulse not quite crushed out of me by the occupation circumstances had compelled me to take up)—­my next, to put out my own light and seat myself at the post of observation thus afforded me.  The excuse I gave myself for this was plausible enough.  Mrs. Packard had been placed in my charge and, if all was not right with her, it was my business to know it.

Accordingly I sat and watched each movement of my mysterious charge as it was outlined on the telltale wall before me, and saw enough in one half-hour to convince me that something very vigorous and purposeful was going on in the room so determinedly closed against every one, even her own husband.

What?

The moving silhouette of her figure, which was all that I could see, was not perfect enough in detail for me to determine.  She was busy at some occupation which took her from one end of the room to the other; but after watching her shadow for an hour I was no surer than at first as to what that occupation was.  It was a serious one, I saw, and now and then the movements I watched gave evidence of frantic haste, but their character stood unrevealed till suddenly the thought came: 

“She is rummaging bureau-drawers and emptying boxes,—­in other words, packing a bag or trunk.”

Should I be witness to a flight?  I thought it very likely, especially when I heard the faint sound of a door opening below, followed by the swish of silken skirts.  I recalled Mayor Packard’s fears and began to suspect that they were not groundless.

This called for action, and I was about to open my door and rush out when I was deterred by the surprising discovery that the steps I heard were coming up rather than going down, and that in another moment she would be in the hall outside, possibly on her way to the nursery, possibly with the intention of coming to my own room.