ary
glance at his features, and he ran off with surprising speed. The blow,
sudden, jarring, and inflicted with a sharp instrument--by a strong
knife or a dagger--caused a sensation of faintness; and before I
recovered from it all chance of successful pursuit was at an end. The
wound, which was not at all serious, I had dressed at a chemist's shop
in the Haymarket; and as proclaiming the attack would do nothing toward
detecting the perpetrator of it, I said little about it to any one, and
managed to conceal it entirely from my wife, to whom it would have
suggested a thousand painful apprehensions whenever I happened to be
unexpectedly detained from home. The brief glimpse I had of the balked
assassin afforded no reasonable indication of his identity. To be sure
he ran at an amazing and unusual pace, but this was a qualification
possessed by so many of the light-legged as well as lightfingered gentry
of my professional acquaintance, that it could not justify even a random
suspicion; and I determined to forget the unpleasant incident as soon as
possible.

The third evening after this occurrence I was again passing along
Leicester-square at a somewhat late hour, but this time with all my eyes
about me. Snow, which the wind blew sharply in one's face, was falling
fast, and the cold was intense. Except myself, and a tallish,
snow-wreathed figure--a woman apparently--not a living being was to be
seen. This figure, which was standing still at the further side of the
square, appeared to be awaiting me, and as I drew near it, threw back
the hood of a cloak, and to my great surprise disclosed the features of
a Madame Jaubert. This lady, some years before, had carried on, not very
far from the spot where she now stood, a respectable millinery business.
She was a widow with one child, a daughter of about seven years of age.
Marie-Louise, as she was named, was one unfortunate day sent to
Coventry-street on an errand with some money in her hand, and never
returned. The inquiries set on foot proved utterly without effect: not
the slightest intelligence of the fate of the child was obtained--and
the grief and distraction of the bereaved mother resulted in temporary
insanity. She was confined in a lunatic asylum for seven or eight
months, and when pronounced convalescent, found herself homeless, and
almost penniless, in the world. This sad story I had heard from one of
the keepers of the asylum during her sojourn there. It was a subject