t--what is it about her? Her
upper lip isn't perfectly cut, there's some fault with her nose, but
I never saw such a mouth, or such a face. 'Free to-morrow?' Good God!
she'll think I mean I'm free to take a walk!"

At this view of the ghastly shortcoming of his letter as regards
distinctness, and the prosaic misinterpretation it was open to, Wilfrid
called his inventive wits to aid, and ran swiftly to the end of the
street. He had become--as like unto a lunatic as resemblance can
approach identity. Commanding the length of the pavement for an instant,
to be sure that no Braintop was in sight, he ran down a lateral street,
but the stationer's shop he was in search of beamed nowhere visible
for him, and he returned at the same pace to experience despair at the
thought that he might have missed Braintop issuing forth, for whom he
scoured the immediate neighbourhood, and overhauled not a few quiet
gentlemen of all ages. "An envelope!" That was the object of his desire,
and for that he wooed a damsel passing jauntily with a jug in her hand,
first telling her that he knew her name was Mary, at which singular
piece of divination she betrayed much natural astonishment. But a fine
round silver coin and an urgent request for an envelope, told her as
plainly as a blank confession that this was a lover. She informed him
that she lived three streets off, where there were shops. "Well, then,"
said Wilfrid, "bring me the envelope here, and you'll have another
opportunity of looking down the area."

"Think of yourself," replied she, saucily; but proved a diligent
messenger. Then Wilfrid wrote on a fresh slip:

"When I said 'Free,' I meant free in heart and without a single chain
to keep me from you. From any moment that you please, I am free. This is
written in the dark."

He closed the envelope, and wrote Emilia's name and the address as
black as his pencil could achieve it, and with a smart double-knock he
deposited the missive in the box. From his station opposite he guessed
the instant when it was taken out, and from that judged when she would
be reading it. Or perhaps she would not read it till she was alone?
"That must be her bedroom," he said, looking for a light in one of the
upper windows; but the voice of a fellow who went by with: "I should
keep that to myself, if I was you," warned him to be more discreet.

"Well, here I am. I can't leave the street," quoth Wilfrid, to the stock
of philosophy at his disposal. He burned