arm light from the west
shining over the now yellowing trees of the squares and gardens. He
walked down toward Netting Hill Gate Station, endeavoring to convince
himself that he was not perturbed, and yet looking somewhat anxiously at
the cabs that passed. People were now coming out from their business in
the city by train and omnibus and hansom; and they seemed to be hurrying
home in very good spirits, as if they were sure of the welcome awaiting
them there. Now and again you would see a meeting--some demure young
person, who had been furtively watching the railway-station, suddenly
showing a brightness in her face as she went forward to shake hands with
some new arrival, and then tripping briskly away with him, her hand on
his arm. There were men carrying home fish in small bags, or baskets of
fruit--presents to their wives, doubtless, from town. Occasionally an
open carriage would go by, containing one grave and elderly gentleman
and a group of small girls--probably his daughters, who had gone into
the city to accompany their papa homeward. Why did these scenes and
incidents, cheerful in themselves, seem to him to be somehow saddening
as he walked vaguely on? He knew, at least, that there was little use in
returning home. There was no one in that silent house in the square. The
rooms would be dark in the twilight. Probably dinner would be laid, with
no one to sit down at the table. He wished Sheila had left word where
she was going.

Then he bethought him of the way in which they had parted, and of the
sense of fear that had struck him the moment he left the house, that
after all he had been too harsh with the child. Now, at least, he was
ready to apologize to her. If only he could see Sheila coming along in
one of those hansoms--if he could see, at any distance, the figure he
knew so well walking toward him on the pavement--would he not instantly
confess to her, that he had been wrong, even grievously wrong, and beg
her to forgive him? She should have it all her own way about going up to
Lewis. He would cast aside this society-life he had been living, and to
please her would go in for any sort of work or amusement of which she
approved. He was so anxious, indeed, to put these virtuous resolutions
into force that he suddenly turned and walked rapidly back to the house,
with the wild hope that Sheila might have already come back.

The windows were dark, the curtains were yet drawn, and by this time the
evening had co