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 overweening
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.
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