was
a young lady in Magdalen's critical position likely to while away
the hours until Mr. Huxtable 's return? If there was an obstructive
gentleman in the background, it would be mere waste of time to pursue
the question. But if the inference which the handbill suggested
was correct--if she was really alone at that moment in the city of
York--where was she likely to be?

Not in the crowded thoroughfares, to begin with. Not viewing the objects
of interest in the Minster, for it was now past the hour at which the
cathedral could be seen. Was she in the waiting-room at the railway?
She would hardly run that risk. Was she in one of the hotels? Doubtful,
considering that she was entirely by herself. In a pastry-cook's shop?
Far more likely. Driving about in a cab? Possible, certainly; but no
more. Loitering away the time in some quiet locality, out-of-doors?
Likely enough, again, on that fine autumn evening. The captain paused,
weighed the relative claims on his attention of the quiet locality and
the pastry-cook's shop; and decided for the first of the two. There was
time enough to find her at the pastry-cook's, to inquire after her at
the principal hotels, or, finally, to intercept her in Mr. Huxtable's
immediate neighborhood from seven to eight. While the light lasted, the
wise course was to use it in looking for her out-of-doors. Where? The
Esplanade was a quiet locality; but she was not there--not on the lonely
road beyond, which ran back by the Abbey Wall. Where next? The captain
stopped, looked across the river, brightened under the influence of a
new idea, and suddenly hastened back to the ferry.

"The Walk on the Walls," thought this judicious man, with a twinkle of
his party-colored eyes. "The quietest place in York; and the place that
every stranger goes to see."

In ten minutes more Captain Wragge was exploring the new field of
search. He mounted to the walls (which inclose the whole western portion
of the city) by the North Street Postern, from which the walk winds
round until it ends again at its southernly extremity in the narrow
passage of Rosemary Lane. It was then twenty minutes to seven. The sun
had set more than half an hour since; the red light lay broad and low in
the cloudless western heaven; all visible objects were softening in the
tender twilight, but were not darkening yet. The first few lamps lit in
the street below looked like faint little specks of yellow light, as
the captain started on his