“Young what?” was the reply; but there was a something so firm and convincing in the look of the keen grey eyes upon him, that, muttering inaudibly, the fellow shrank back, and was soon lost in the passing crowd.
The Reverend Arthur Sterne then looked hastily round, to see that Lucy Grey had passed down the next street, to whose corner he hurried, where he could see her nearly at the bottom, with old Matt striding fiercely along. He then turned to look for the woman who had been Lucy’s companion, but she had disappeared. However, he walked hastily in the direction she had taken, and searched eagerly for some distance, now thinking that he caught sight of her bonnet on this side, now upon that, but always disappointed; several times he was about to return, but a delusive glimpse of some figure in the distance led him on, till, tired and disheartened, he turned to reach his apartments, when he encountered, first, the ill-looking countenance of Mr William Jarker, who made a sort of slouching attempt at a bow, and directly after, a quiet-looking individual, with a straw in his mouth and his hands in his pockets, whom Mr Sterne passed without notice, though he had recognised the birdcatcher, whose wife he had from time to time visited. But Mr Sterne was not aware that he had been followed by the ruffian, as a bull-dog would follow his master, or a hound his quarry—though it is disgracing the latter simile to use it. Nor was Mr Jarker aware that that quiet-looking individual had been following him in turn till he was once more about to track the curate, when for a moment he and the quiet individual stood face to face, apparently without seeing one another; but it was observable that Mr Jarker immediately went off in quite another direction, while, after slowly twisting his straw and winking to himself, the quiet man slowly took the same route as Mr Sterne.
Volume Two—Chapter Three.
Another Funeral.
Septimus Hardon leaped to his feet, as suddenly a key turned and the bedroom-door opened; there was a sharp scuffling noise, as of a swarm of rats leaping hurriedly from the bed, and tearing over one another, in their haste to reach the hole; a wild shriek from a woman, a heavy fall, and then all was again silent.
As soon as he could recall his scattered energies, Septimus Hardon raised the woman’s head and bathed her face, when she soon opened her eyes and sat up, gazing at him with a horrified aspect.
“Hush!” he said softly; “don’t be alarmed. My name is Hardon; I came to see my father for the last time. I think I used to know you in the town?”
“O, yes; I remember you now, sir,” stammered the woman; “but you gave me a dreadful turn.”