d the half lights, just behind them,
creeping after them with stealthy tread, as hand in hand they pass me in
quiet ways.

Shall any of us escape, or lies the road of all through this dark
valley of the shadow of dead love? Is it Love's ordeal? testing the
feeble-hearted from the strong in faith, who shall find each other yet
again, the darkness passed?

Of the dinner itself, until time of dessert, I can give no consecutive
account, for as footman, under the orders of this enthusiastic
parlour-maid, my place was no sinecure, and but few opportunities of
observation through the crack of the door were afforded me. All that
was clear to me was that the chief guest was a Mr. Teidelmann--or
Tiedelmann, I cannot now remember which--a snuffy, mumbling old frump,
with whose name then, however, I was familiar by reason of seeing it
so often in huge letters, though with a Co. added, on dreary long blank
walls, bordering the Limehouse reach. He sat at my mother's right hand;
and I wondered, noticing him so ugly and so foolish seeming, how she
could be so interested in him, shouting much and often to him; for added
to his other disattractions he was very deaf, which necessitated his
putting his hand up to his ear at every other observation made to
him, crying querulously: "Eh, what? What are you talking about? Say it
again,"--smiling upon him and paying close attention to his every want.
Even old Hasluck, opposite to him, and who, though pleasant enough
in his careless way, was far from being a slave to politeness, roared
himself purple, praising some new disinfectant of which this same
Teidelmann appeared to be the proprietor.

"My wife swears by it," bellowed Hasluck, leaning across the table.

"Our drains!" chimed in Mrs. Hasluck, who was a homely soul; "well,
you'd hardly know there was any in the house since I've took to using
it."

"What are they talking about?" asked Teidelmann, appealing to my mother.
"What's he say his wife does?"

"Your disinfectant," explained my mother; "Mrs. Hasluck swears by it."

"Who?"

"Mrs. Hasluck."

"Does she? Delighted to hear it," grunted the old gentleman, evidently
bored.

"Nothing like it for a sick-room," persisted Hasluck; "might almost call
it a scent."

"Makes one quite anxious to be ill," remarked my aunt, addressing no one
in particular.

"Reminds me of cocoanuts," continued Hasluck.

Its proprietor appeared not to hear, but Hasluck was determined his
flattery shoul