Instantly she drew back.

On the opposite side of the little square stood a man, looking toward her house; and that man was Warburton.
From safe retirement, she watched him.

He walked this way; he walked that; again he stood still, his eyes upon the house.

Would he cross over?
Would he venture to knock at the door?
No, he withdrew; he disappeared.
Presently it was the hour of dusk.

Every few minutes Rosamund reconnoitred at the window, and at length, just perceptible to her straining eyes, there again stood Warburton.