"And as for you, this was all right for a joke, but it wouldn't bear
repeating. From now on, you're the gardener's boy, and you'll not
forget your place again."
"Yes, sir," said Samuel once more, and stood watching while his young
master went into the house.
Then he turned and went down the road, half dazed.
Those had been sledge-hammer blows, and they had landed full and hard.
They had left him without a shred of all his illusions. His work, that
he had been so proud of--he hated it, and everything associated with
it. And he was overwhelmed with perplexity and pain--just as before
when he had found himself in jail, and it had dawned upon him that the
Law, an institution which he had revered, might be no such august
thing at all, but an instrument of injustice and oppression.
In that mood he came to the hotel. Again there was no one in the
office, so he went directly to the room and knocked. There was no
answer; he knocked again, more heavily.
"I wonder if she's gone," he thought, and looked again at the number,
to make sure he was at the right room. Then, timidly, he tried the
door.
It opened. "Lady," he said, and then louder, "Lady."
There was no response, and he went in. Could she be asleep? he
thought. No--that was not likely. He listened for her breathing. There
was not a sound.
And finally he went to the bed, and put his hand upon it.
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