ut
her were incorrect. He began to feel that he could not go away without
making an effort to ascertain if there were any truth in her story.

He went along the passage and got back to the wharf by the same means as
before. Making his way round the pile of timber upon which he had first
seen the girl, he discovered a little lane, partly between and partly
over the planks, which he promptly followed in the hope of coming in
sight of her again.

And, crouching under the wall of a ruinous outhouse, in an attitude
expressive of the dejection of utter abandonment, was the white-faced
girl.

The discovery was enough for Max. All considerations of prudence, of
caution, crumbled away under the influence of the intense pity he felt
for the forlorn creature.

"Look here," said he, "I'll go in, if you like. Have you got a light?"

"No--o," answered the girl, in a voice which was thick with sobs. "But I
can show you where to get one when you get inside."

Max had by this time reached the ground, which was slimy and damp under
the eaves; and he pushed his way, with an air of recklessness which hid
some natural trepidation, into the outhouse, the door of which was not
even fastened.

"Why," said he, turning to the girl, who was close behind him, "you
could have got in yourself easily enough. At least you would have been
warmer in here than outside."

His suspicions were starting up again, and they grew stronger as he
perceived that she was paying little attention to him, that she seemed
to be listening for some expected sound. The place in which they now
stood was quite dark, and Max, impatient and somewhat alarmed by the
position in which he found himself, struck a match and looked round him.

"Now," said he, "find me a candle, if you can."

Even by the feeble light of the match he could see that he was in a sort
of a scullery, which bore traces of recent occupation. A bit of yellow
soap, some blacking and a couple of brooms in one corner, a pail and a
wooden chair in another, were evidently not "tenant's fixtures."

And then Max noted a strange circumstance--the two small windows were
boarded up on the inside.

By the time he had taken note of this, the girl had brought him a candle
in a tin candlestick, which she had taken from a shelf by the door.

"That's the way," she said, in a voice as low a before, pointing to an
inner door. "Through the back room, and into the front one. He lies in
there."

Max shuddered.