ads, they saw a rickety individual
shambling round from the back door with a horn lantern dangling from his
hand.

'Time o' night, 'a b'lieve! and the clock only gone seven of 'em. Show a
light, and let us in, William Worm.'

'Oh, that you, Robert Lickpan?'

'Nobody else, William Worm.'

'And is the visiting man a-come?'

'Yes,' said the stranger. 'Is Mr. Swancourt at home?'

'That 'a is, sir. And would ye mind coming round by the back way? The
front door is got stuck wi' the wet, as he will do sometimes; and the
Turk can't open en. I know I am only a poor wambling man that 'ill never
pay the Lord for my making, sir; but I can show the way in, sir.'

The new arrival followed his guide through a little door in a wall, and
then promenaded a scullery and a kitchen, along which he passed with
eyes rigidly fixed in advance, an inbred horror of prying forbidding
him to gaze around apartments that formed the back side of the household
tapestry. Entering the hall, he was about to be shown to his room, when
from the inner lobby of the front entrance, whither she had gone to
learn the cause of the delay, sailed forth the form of Elfride. Her
start of amazement at the sight of the visitor coming forth from under
the stairs proved that she had not been expecting this surprising flank
movement, which had been originated entirely by the ingenuity of William
Worm.

She appeared in the prettiest of all feminine guises, that is to say, in
demi-toilette, with plenty of loose curly hair tumbling down about her
shoulders. An expression of uneasiness pervaded her countenance; and
altogether she scarcely appeared woman enough for the situation. The
visitor removed his hat, and the first words were spoken; Elfride
prelusively looking with a deal of interest, not unmixed with surprise,
at the person towards whom she was to do the duties of hospitality.

'I am Mr. Smith,' said the stranger in a musical voice.

'I am Miss Swancourt,' said Elfride.

Her constraint was over. The great contrast between the reality she
beheld before her, and the dark, taciturn, sharp, elderly man of
business who had lurked in her imagination--a man with clothes smelling
of city smoke, skin sallow from want of sun, and talk flavoured with
epigram--was such a relief to her that Elfride smiled, almost laughed,
in the new-comer's face.

Stephen Smith, who has hitherto been hidden from us by the darkness, was
at this time of his life but a youth in appeara