it, and with his fox's
hide stripped off, he sneaked away, abashed, degraded, and afraid.

Some other terror came upon hIm quite removed from this of being
pursued, suddenly, like an electric shock, as he was creeping through
the streets Some visionary terror, unintelligible and inexplicable,
asssociated with a trembling of the ground,--a rush and sweep of
something through the air, like Death upon the wing. He shrunk, as if to
let the thing go by. It was not gone, it never had been there, yet what
a startling horror it had left behind.

He raised his wicked face so full of trouble, to the night sky, where
the stars, so full of peace, were shining on him as they had been when
he first stole out into the air; and stopped to think what he should
do. The dread of being hunted in a strange remote place, where the laws
might not protect him--the novelty of the feeling that it was strange
and remote, originating in his being left alone so suddenly amid the
ruins of his plans--his greater dread of seeking refuge now, in Italy or
in Sicily, where men might be hired to assissinate him, he thought, at
any dark street corner-the waywardness of guilt and fear--perhaps some
sympathy of action with the turning back of all his schemes--impelled
him to turn back too, and go to England.

'I am safer there, in any case. If I should not decide,' he thought,
'to give this fool a meeting, I am less likely to be traced there, than
abroad here, now. And if I should (this cursed fit being over), at least
I shall not be alone, with out a soul to speak to, or advise with, or
stand by me. I shall not be run in upon and worried like a rat.'

He muttered Edith's name, and clenched his hand. As he crept along,
in the shadow of the massive buildings, he set his teeth, and muttered
dreadful imprecations on her head, and looked from side to side, as
if in search of her. Thus, he stole on to the gate of an inn-yard. The
people were a-bed; but his ringing at the bell soon produced a man with
a lantern, in company with whom he was presently in a dim coach-house,
bargaining for the hire of an old phaeton, to Paris.

The bargain was a short one; and the horses were soon sent for. Leaving
word that the carriage was to follow him when they came, he stole away
again, beyond the town, past the old ramparts, out on the open road,
which seemed to glide away along the dark plain, like a stream.

Whither did it flow? What was the end of it? As he paused, with