RODERICK HUDSON
idled, but he idled with intensity. He laughed and whistled and went often to Mrs. Light's; though Rowland could but wonder to what issue events had brought his relations with Christina. The month ebbed away, and our friend daily expected to learn that he had gone to Leghorn to meet the ship. No such report came, however, and late one evening, not having seen him for three or four days, he stopped at his lodging to make sure of his absence. A cab was standing in the street, but as it was a couple of doors off he hardly heeded it. The hall at the foot of the staircase was dark, like most Roman halls, and he paused in the open doorway on hearing the advancing footstep of a person with whom he wished to avoid a collision. While he did so he heard another footstep behind him and, turning round, found that Roderick himself had just overtaken him. At the same moment a woman's figure advanced from within, into the light of the street-lamp, and a face, half startled, looked at him out of the darkness. He gave a cry—it was the face of Mary Garland. Her attention flew past him to Roderick, and in a second a startled exclamation broke from her own lips. It made him turn again, turn to see Roderick stand there strange and pale, apparently trying to speak, yet producing no sound. His lips were parted and his attitude foolish, the attitude, unmistakeably, of a man who has drunk too much. Then Rowland's eyes met Miss Garland's again, and her own, which had rested a moment on Roderick's were formidable.
