Swithin could not sleep that night for thinking of his Viviette.

Nothing told so significantly of the conduct of her first husband towards the
poor lady as the abiding dread of him which was revealed in her by any
sudden revival of his image or memory. But for that consideration her
almost childlike terror at Swithin's inadvertent disguise would have been
ludicrous.

He waited anxiously through several following days for an opportunity of
seeing her, but none was afforded. Her brother's presence in the house
sufficiently accounted for this. At length he ventured to write a note,
requesting her to signal to him in a way she had done once or twice
before,--by pulling down a blind in a particular window of the house, one
of the few visible from the top of the Rings-Hill column; this to be done
on any evening when she could see him after dinner on the terrace.

When he had levelled the glass at that window for five successive nights
he beheld the blind in the position suggested. Three hours later, quite
in the dusk, he repaired to the place of appointment.

'My brother is away this evening,' she explained, 'and that's why I can
come out. He is only gone for a few hours, nor is he likely to go for
longer just yet. He keeps himself a good deal in my company, which has
made it unsafe for me to venture near you.' 'Has he any suspicion?' 'None, apparently. But he rather depresses me.' 'How, Viviette?' Swithin feared, from her manner, that this was
something serious.