We, of course, should do far nobler things when these same spurs were won!

Now it may have been mere literary instinct – the grasping at ‘material’ of the pot-boiling writers of the day, and it may have been another kind of instinct – the unacknowledged attraction of the fair unknown; but, whatever the reason, the place had drawn us both, and here we were.

Unbroken friendship begun in babyhood held us two together, all the more closely because Hal was a merry, prosaic, clear-headed fellow, and I sensitive and romantic.

The fearless frankness of family life we shared, but held the right to unapproachable reserves, and so kept love unstrained.

We examined our new quarters with interest. The front room, Hal’s, was rather big and bare. The back room, mine, rather small and bare.

He preferred that room, I am convinced, because of the window and the chair. I preferred the other, because of the locked door. We neither of us mentioned these prejudices.

‘Are you sure you would not rather have this room?’ asked Hal, conscious, perhaps, of an ulterior motive in his choice.

‘No, indeed,’ said I, with a similar reservation; ‘you only have the street and I have a real “view” from my window. The only thing I begrudge you is the chair!’

‘You may come and rock therein at any hour of the day or night,’ said he magnanimously. ‘It is tremendously comfortable, for all its black looks.’

It was a comfortable chair, a very comfortable chair, and we both used it a great deal. A very high-backed chair, curving a little forward at the top, with heavy square corners. These corners, the ends of the rockers, the great sharp knobs that tipped the arms, and every other point and angle were mounted in brass.

‘Might be used for a battering-ram!’ said Hal.

He sat smoking in it, rocking slowly and complacently by the window, while I lounged on the foot of the bed, and watched a pale young moon sink slowly over the western housetops.

It went out of sight at last, and the room grew darker and darker till I could only see Hal’s handsome head and the curving chair-back move slowly to and fro against the dim sky.

‘What brought us here so suddenly, Maurice?’ he asked, out of the dark.

‘Three reasons,’ I answered. ‘Our need of lodgings, the suitability of these, and a beautiful head.’

‘Correct,’ said he. ‘Anything else?’

‘Nothing you would admit the existence of, my sternly logical friend. But I am conscious of a certain compulsion, or at least attraction, in the case, which does not seem wholly accounted for, even by golden hair.’

‘For once I will agree with you,’ said Hal. ‘I feel the same way myself, and I am not impressionable.’

We were silent for a little. I may have closed my eyes, – it may have been longer than I thought, but it did not seem another moment when something brushed softly against my arm, and Hal in his great chair was rocking beside me.

‘Excuse me,’ said he, seeing me start. ‘This chair evidently “walks,” I’ve seen ’em before.’

So had I, on carpets, but there was no carpet here, and I thought I was awake.

He pulled the heavy thing back to the window again, and we went to bed.

Our door was open, and we could talk back and forth, but presently I dropped off and slept heavily until morning. But I must have dreamed most vividly, for he accused me of rocking in his chair half the night, said he could see my outline clearly against the starlight.

‘No,’ said I, ‘you dreamed it. You’ve got that rocking-chair on the brain.’

‘Dream it is, then,’ he answered cheerily. ‘Better a nightmare than a contradiction; a vampire than a quarrel! Come on, let’s go to breakfast!’

We wondered greatly as the days went by that we saw nothing of our golden-haired charmer. But we wondered in silence, and neither mentioned it to the other.

Sometimes I heard her light movements in the room next mine, or the soft laugh somewhere in the house; but the mother’s slow, even steps were more frequent, and even she was not often visible.

All either of us saw of the girl, to my knowledge, was from the street, for she still availed herself of our chair by the window. This we disapproved of, on principle, the more so as we left the doors locked, and her presence proved the possession of another key. No; there was the door in my room! But I did not mention the idea. Under the circumstances, however, we made no complaint, and used to rush stealthily and swiftly up-stairs, hoping to surprise her. But we never succeeded. Only the chair was often found still rocking, and sometimes I fancied a faint sweet odor lingering about, an odor strangely saddening and suggestive. But one day when I thought Hal was there I rushed in unceremoniously and caught her. It was but a glimpse – a swift, light, noiseless sweep – she vanished into my own room. Following her with apologies for such a sudden entrance, I was too late. The envious door was locked again.

Our landlady’s fair daughter was evidently shy enough when brought to bay, but strangely willing to take liberties in our absence.

Still, I had seen her, and for that sight would have forgiven much. Hers was a strange beauty, infinitely attractive yet infinitely perplexing. I marveled in secret, and longed with painful eagerness for another meeting; but I said nothing to Hal of my surprising her – it did not seem fair to the girl! She might have some good reason for going there; perhaps I could meet her again.

So I took to coming home early, on one excuse or another, and inventing all manner of errands to get to the room when Hal was not in.

But it was not until after numberless surprises on that point, finding him there when I supposed him downtown, and noticing something a little forced in his needless explanations, that I began to wonder if he might not be on the same quest.

Soon I was sure of it.