ey rose at the same
moment to detain her. Like one who knew at once to fight and flee, she
turned and stunned them as with a blow.

'She's a fine yoong thing, yon sister o' yours, Geordie. She'll be worth
siller by the time she's had a while at the schuil.'

The men looked at each other aghast. When they turned their eyes she
had vanished. They rushed to the door, and, parting, searched in both
directions. But they were soon satisfied that it was of no use. Probably
she had found a back way into Paternoster Row, whence the outlets are
numerous.

CHAPTER IV. THE DOCTOR'S DEATH.

But now that Falconer had a ground, even thus shadowy, for hoping--I
cannot say believing--that his father might be in London, he could not
return to Aberdeen. Moray, who had no heart to hunt for his mother,
left the next day by the steamer. Falconer took to wandering about
the labyrinthine city, and in a couple of months knew more about the
metropolis--the west end excepted--than most people who had lived their
lives in it. The west end is no doubt a considerable exception to make,
but Falconer sought only his father, and the west end was the place
where he was least likely to find him. Day and night he wandered into
all sorts of places: the worse they looked the more attractive he found
them. It became almost a craze with him. He could not pass a dirty court
or low-browed archway. He might be there. Or he might have been there.
Or it was such a place as he would choose for shelter. He knew to what
such a life as his must have tended.

At first he was attracted only by tall elderly men. Such a man he would
sometimes follow till his following made him turn and demand his
object. If there was no suspicion of Scotch in his tone, Falconer easily
apologized. If there was, he made such replies as might lead to some
betrayal. He could not defend the course he was adopting: it had not the
shadow of probability upon its side. Still the greatest successes the
world has ever beheld had been at one time the greatest improbabilities!
He could not choose but go on, for as yet he could think of no other
way.

Neither could a man like Falconer long confine his interest to this
immediate object, especially after he had, in following it, found
opportunity of being useful. While he still made it his main object
to find his father, that object became a centre from which radiated a
thousand influences upon those who were as sheep that had no shepherd.