llen upon her knee,
and her hands dropped mechanically on her lap. Her profile was turned
towards the street; but without moving her head or changing her
attitude, her eyes glanced from time to time to her little girl, who
nestled on the ground beside her, tired with play; and wondering,
perhaps, why she was not already in bed, seemed as tranquil as the young
mother herself. And sometimes Alice's eyes filled with tears--and
then she sighed, as if to sigh the tears away. But poor Alice, if she
grieved, hers was now a silent and a patient grief.

The street was deserted of all other passengers, when a man passed along
the pavement on the side opposite to Alice's house. His garb was rude
and homely, between that of a labourer and a farmer; but still there
was an affectation of tawdry show about the bright scarlet handkerchief,
tied, in a sailor or smuggler fashion, round the sinewy throat; the
hat was set jauntily on one side, and, dangling many an inch from
the gaily-striped waistcoat, glittered a watch-chain and seals, which
appeared suspiciously out of character with the rest of his attire.
The passenger was covered with dust; and as the street was in a suburb
communicating with the high-road, and formed one of the entrances
into the town, he had probably, after long day's journey, reached
his evening's destination. The looks of this stranger wore anxious,
restless, and perturbed. In his gait and swagger there was the
recklessness of the professional blackguard; but in his vigilant,
prying, suspicious eyes there was a hang-dog expression of apprehension
and fear. He seemed a man upon whom Crime had set its significant
mark--and who saw a purse with one eye and a gibbet with the other.
Alice did not note the stranger, until she herself had attracted and
centred all his attention. He halted abruptly as he caught a view of her
face--shaded his eyes with his hands as if to gaze more intently--and
at length burst into an exclamation of surprise and pleasure. At
that instant Alice turned, and her gaze met that of the stranger. The
fascination of the basilisk can scarcely more stun and paralyse its
victim than the look of this stranger charmed, with the appalling
glamoury of horror, the eye and soul of Alice Darvil. Her face became
suddenly locked and rigid, her lips as white as marble, her eyes almost
started from their sockets--she pressed her hands convulsively together,
and shuddered--but still she did not move. The man no