He rose from the bed and went to the window. The city was silent and the
night was dark. Floating clouds hid the moon and stars. The ranges and
the city roofs themselves had sunk into the dusk. It seemed to him that
all things favored the bold and persevering. And he had been
persevering. No one would ever know how he had suffered, what terrific
pangs had assailed him. He could not see now how he had done it, and he
was quite sure that he could never go through such an ordeal again. The
rack would be almost as welcome.
Ned did not know it, but a deep red flush had come into each pale cheek.
He removed most of his clothes, and put his head forward between the
iron bar and the window sill. The head went through and the shoulders
followed. He drew back, breathing a deep and mighty breath of triumph.
Yet he had known that it would be so. When he first tried the space he
had been only a shade too large for it. Now his head and shoulders would
go between, but with nothing to spare. A sheet of paper could not have
been slipped in on either side. Yet it was enough. The triumph of
self-denial was complete.
He had thought several times of telling Mr. Austin, but he finally
decided not to do so. He might seek to interfere.
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