* * * * * Roger Temple did not go home that night till the spring dawn was in the sky . Catherine was sleepless with anxiety about him . When she heard him come up the stairs , she opened her door and peeped out . Roger went along the hall without seeing her . His brilliant eyes stared straight before him , and there was something in his face that made Catherine steal back to her bed with a little shiver of fear . He looked like his uncle . She did not ask him , when they met at breakfast , where or how he had spent the night . He had been dreading the question and was relieved beyond measure when it was not asked . But , apart from that , he was hardly conscious of her presence . He ate and drank mechanically and voicelessly . When he had gone out , Catherine wagged her uncomely grey head ominously . `` He 's bewitched , '' she muttered . `` I know the signs . He 's seen her -- drat her ! It 's time she gave up that kind of work . Well , I dunno what to do -- thar ai n't anything I can do , I reckon . He 'll never marry now -- I 'm as sure of that as of any mortal thing . He 's in love with a ghost . '' It had not yet occurred to Roger that he was in love . He thought of nothing but Isabel Temple -- her lovely , lovely face , sweeter than any picture he had ever seen or any ideal he had dreamed , her long dark hair , her slim form and , more than all , her compelling eyes .
He saw them wherever he looked -- they drew him -- he would have followed them to the end XXXXX the world , heedless of all else .
along at before beyond from like of than with without