ings; of the sting on his cheek; of
the traffic, drifting on--slowly. Then he, too, started to walk away, in
the opposite direction; it mattered little whither he bent his footsteps
now. Dandy Joe had disappeared; the hope of attaining his end through
him, of being led to the retreat of one he had so long desired to find,
had proved illusive. The last moment's halt had enabled him to escape,
to fade from view like a will-o'-the-wisp.

John Steele did not go far in mere aimless fashion; leaning against a
wall he strove once more to plan, but ever as he did so, through his
thought the girl's fair face, looking out from enshrouding lace,
intruded. Again he felt the light of her eyes, all the bitterness of
spirit their surprise, consternation, had once more awakened in him.

He looked out at the wagons, the carts, the nondescript vehicles of
every description; but a moment before she had been there,--so near; he
had caught beneath filmy white the glitter of gold,--her hair, the only
bright thing in that murk and gloom. He recalled how he had once sat
beside her at the opera. How different was this babel, this grinding and
crunching of London's thundering wheels!

But around her had always been dreams that had led him into strange
byways, through dangerous, though flowery paths! To what end? To see her
start, her eyes wide with involuntary dread, shrinking? Could he not
thus interpret that look he had seen by the flare of a carriage lamp,
when she had caught sight of him?

Dread of him? It seemed the crowning mockery; his blood surged faster;
he forgot his purpose, when a figure coming out of a public house,
through one of the doors near which he had halted, caught his attention.
Dandy Joe, a prodigal with unexpected riches, wiped his lips as he
sauntered past John Steele and continued his way, lurching a little.

How long did Steele walk after him? The distance across the city was
far; groping, occasionally stumbling, it seemed interminable now. Once
or twice Dandy Joe lost his way, and jocularly accosted passers-by to
inquire. At Seven Dials he experienced difficulty in determining which
one of the miserable streets radiating as from a common hub, would lead
him in the desired direction; but, after looking hastily at various
objects--a barber's post, a metal plate on a wall--he selected his
street. Narrow, dark, it wormed its way through a cankered and
little-traversed part of old London.

For a time they two seemed