his head and lifted his eyes. No sooner had he done so than he uttered a
cry of disappointment and remained rooted to the spot. The box was
empty. During his slow advance Mr. Vandeleur and his daughter had
quietly slipped away.

A polite person in his rear reminded him that he was stopping the path;
and he moved on again with mechanical footsteps, and suffered the crowd
to carry him unresisting out of the theatre. Once in the street, the
pressure ceasing, he came to a halt, and the cool night air speedily
restored him to the possession of his faculties. He was surprised to
find that his head ached violently, and that he remembered not one word
of the two acts which he had witnessed. As the excitement wore away, it
was succeeded by an overmastering appetite for sleep, and he hailed a
cab and drove to his lodging in a state of extreme exhaustion and some
disgust of life.

Next morning he lay in wait for Miss Vandeleur on her road to market,
and by eight o'clock beheld her stepping down a lane. She was simply,
and even poorly, attired; but in the carriage of her head and body there
was something flexible and noble that would have lent distinction to the
meanest toilette. Even her basket, so aptly did she carry it, became her
like an ornament. It seemed to Francis, as he slipped into a doorway,
that the sunshine followed and the shadows fled before her as she
walked; and he was conscious, for the first time, of a bird singing in a
cage above the lane.

He suffered her to pass the doorway, and then, coming forth once more,
addressed her by name from behind.

"Miss Vandeleur," said he.

She turned and, when she saw who he was, became deadly pale.

"Pardon me," he continued; "Heaven knows I had no will to startle you;
and, indeed, there should be nothing startling in the presence of one
who wishes you so well as I do. And, believe me, I am acting rather from
necessity than choice. We have many things in common, and I am sadly in
the dark. There is much that I should be doing, and my hands are tied. I
do not know even what to feel, nor who are my friends and enemies."

She found her voice with an effort.

"I do not know who you are," she said.

"Ah, yes! Miss Vandeleur, you do," returned Francis; "better than I do
myself. Indeed, it is on that, above all, that I seek light. Tell me
what you know," he pleaded. "Tell me who I am, who you are, and how our
destinies are intermixed. Give me a little help with my life, Miss