Again the study door opened; and again did Lafleur make his appearance.
"A person, sir, who declines to give his name," said the valet, "solicits an interview for a few minutes."
"What sort of a looking person is he?"
"Very pale and sallow; about the middle height; genteel in appearance; respectably clad; and I should say about forty years of age."
"I do not recollect such a person. Show him up."
Lafleur withdrew, and presently introduced Stephens.
For a few moments Greenwood surveyed him in a manner as if he were trying to recollect to whom that pale and altered countenance belonged; for although Stephens had made considerable improvement in his attire, thanks to the contents of Eliza's purse, he still retained upon his features the traces of great suffering, mental and bodily.
"You do not know me?" he said, with a sickly smile.
"Stephens! is it possible?" exclaimed Greenwood, in an accent of the most profound surprise.
"Yes—it is I! No wonder that you did not immediately recognise me: were I not fearfully altered I should not dare thus to venture abroad by daylight."