hed had a window overlooking one of the many lean-tos already
mentioned. This window was fastened, but I had no difficulty in
unlocking it or in finding my way to the ground from the top of the
lean-to. But once again on terra-firma, I discovered that the mist was
now so thick that it had all the effect of a fog at sea. It was icy cold
as well, and clung about me so that I presently began to shudder most
violently, and, strong man though I was, wish myself back in the little
attic bedroom from which I had climbed in search of one in more unhappy
case than myself.

But these feelings did not cause me to return. If I found the night
cold, she must find it bitter. If desolation oppressed my naturally
hopeful spirit, must it not be more overwhelming yet to one whose
memories were sad and whose future was doubtful? And the child! What
infant could live in an air like this! Edging away from the house, I
called out her name, but no answer came back. The persons whom we had
heard flitting in restless longing about the house a few moments before
had left in rage and she, possibly, with them. Yet I could not imagine
her joining herself to people of their stamp. There had been a
solitariness in her aspect which seemed to forbid any such
companionship. Whatever her story, at least she had nothing in common
with the two ill-favored persons whose faces I had seen looking in at
the casement. No; I should find her alone, but where? Certainly the ring
of mist, surrounding me at that moment, offered me little prospect of
finding her anywhere, either easily or soon.

Again I raised my voice, and again I failed to meet with response.
Then, fearing to leave the house lest I should be quite lost amid the
fences and brush lying between it and the road, I began to feel my way
along the walls, calling softly now, instead of loudly, so anxious was I
not to miss any chance of carrying comfort, if not succor, to the woman
I was seeking. But the night gave back no sound, and when I came to the
open door of a shed, I welcomed the refuge it offered and stepped in. I
was, of course, confronted by darkness,--a different darkness from that
without, blanket-like and impenetrable. But when after a moment of
intense listening I heard a soft sound as of weariful breathing, I was
seized anew by hope, and, feeling in my pocket for my match-box, I made
a light and looked around.

My intuitions had not deceived me; she was there. Sitting on the floor
with he