ut summoning up more alacrity than might
have been expected in one of his appearance, he hurried away. I could
see that twice or thrice he looked back as if to ascertain if I were
still watching him, or perhaps to assure himself that I was not
following at a distance. The obscurity of the night favoured his
disappearance, and his figure was soon beyond my sight.

I remained standing on the spot where he had left me, unwilling to
depart, and yet unknowing why I should loiter there. I looked wistfully
into the street we had lately quitted, and after a time directed my
steps that way. I passed and repassed the house, and stopped and
listened at the door; all was dark, and silent as the grave.

Yet I lingered about, and could not tear myself away, thinking of all
possible harm that might happen to the child--of fires and robberies
and even murder--and feeling as if some evil must ensure if I turned my
back upon the place. The closing of a door or window in the street
brought me before the curiosity-dealer's once more; I crossed the road
and looked up at the house to assure myself that the noise had not come
from there. No, it was black, cold, and lifeless as before.

There were few passengers astir; the street was sad and dismal, and
pretty well my own. A few stragglers from the theatres hurried by, and
now and then I turned aside to avoid some noisy drunkard as he reeled
homewards, but these interruptions were not frequent and soon ceased.
The clocks struck one. Still I paced up and down, promising myself that
every time should be the last, and breaking faith with myself on some
new plea as often as I did so.

The more I thought of what the old man had said, and of his looks and
bearing, the less I could account for what I had seen and heard. I had
a strong misgiving that his nightly absence was for no good purpose. I
had only come to know the fact through the innocence of the child, and
though the old man was by at the time, and saw my undisguised surprise,
he had preserved a strange mystery upon the subject and offered no word
of explanation. These reflections naturally recalled again more
strongly than before his haggard face, his wandering manner, his
restless anxious looks. His affection for the child might not be
inconsistent with villany of the worst kind; even that very affection
was in itself an extraordinary contradiction, or how could he leave her
thus? Disposed as I was to think badly of him, I never doubted