Whilst I was engaged in turning all these
things over in my mind, there came across it the
memory of one individual to whom I really felt
as if I should not mind applying in this difficulty.

This was a certain Mr. Pycroft, a copper-
plate printer, with whom I had formerly had
dealings. He was an old man, and it so happened
that at one time in my life I had been in a
position to do him a service, and had done it.
There was something about his age, his position,
and our former relations, which made me
feel less shy of approaching him than I should
have felt with any one else. He was a fat,
jolly-looking old boy, and was, as far as I had
had opportunities of judging, as good natured as
he looked.

There was, however, one circumstance
connected with his history which seemed to show
him in a less amiable light, and the remembrance
of which made me for a time hesitate about
applying to him. I remembered to have heard
that some short time ago he had acted with
great severity towards his eldest son, who, having
contracted a marriage against his father's wishes,
had been deprived of his share in the business,
which he had formerly enjoyed, and left to make
a living as well as he could by his own exertions.
The fact is, that the old man had had a darling
project of marrying his eldest son to a young
girl whose father was a business connexion of
his own. The old copper-plate printer was not
only thwarted in this, but was further outraged
by his son's choice having fallen in a direction
particularly distasteful to him for private reasons.
I suspected also from what I had heard, that the
conduct of the eldest son, which had been
represented to his father as being violent and
rebellious in no ordinary degree, had been made
the worst of by the younger brother, who not
only stepped into the lion's share of the business
on his brother's removal, but himself contracted
the marriage which his brother had declined. I
could not help thinking when I heard the
circumstances of the case that this younger son
had had a great deal to do in poisoning the old
man's mind with regard to his elder brother's
conduct.

At all events, old Mr. Pycroft was the only
person I could think of just now as likely to
help my unfortunate shadows, and to him I
determined to apply, but in a roundabout way. It
occurred to me that if I could enlist his
sympathy in the fate of these poor people, just as
my own had been awakened, by means of the
shadows, it would be a far better plan than any
other.

It so happened that I had often promised my
old acquaintance to show him a collection which
I had of Rembrandt etchings, and it occurred to
me that now was the time when these might
come into play with great effect. So, making an
excuse in relation to the matter of business
which had formerly brought us together, I
called on my old acquaintance, and, in the course
of conversation, invited him, naming an evening,
to come to my lodgings, and examine these
curiosities, intimating that we would moisten
that pleasing labour with a glass of brandy-and-
water. Punctual to the time named Mr. Pycroft
arrived, and we got through the first hour very
comfortably, though I could not help feeling
rather anxious about the success of my scheme.

After examining the etchings, Mr. Pycroft,
over the second glass, began to rally me about
living in such a labyrinth of streets, asking me
if I did not find it dreadfully confined at the
back.

"By-the-by," I said—and here I must own
that I was guilty of some small amount of
deception, for I spoke as if the matter in hand
were of no sort of importance—"by-the-by, Mr.
Pycroft, you wouldn't imagine how much
recreation I derive from observing my neighbours
in that very cross street which you find comes
too near my windows."

"If you was to come out of this kind of
solitary life," replied Mr. P., "you would have
other things to amuse yourself with besides the
goings on of a parcel of people whom you know
nothing about."

"Now here, for instance," I went on, unmindful
of the interruption, as I drew aside my own
curtain and pointed out the window of the room
occupied by my poor young couple—"here is a
window which has revealed to me all sorts of
interesting matter—enough to make a story
out of almost, I can tell you."

"What, this window opposite? But do you
mean to say, Mr. B., that you think it right to
look into people's rooms like that?"

"I have scrupulously abstained from doing
so," was my answer, "and have made all my
observations with the blind down, as you see it
now."

"With the blind down? But how could you
make any observations with the blind down?"

"By means of the shadows of the occupants
of the apartment," was my answer.

"Shadows?" cried Mr. Pycroft, obviously
incredulous. "You don't mean to tell me that
you could make out what was going on in that
room by means of the shadows on the blind?"

"Something of what goes on," I replied, "at
any rate. Enough to interest me in the fortunes
of those to whom the room belongs."

"Well, really Mr. B.! If I had it on any
other testimony than your own I should have
thought it simply impossible."

"Would you like to look for yourself?" I
said. "I dare say something will take place
behind the blind before long, which will give
you an opportunity of testing the accuracy of
what I have said."

"Well, without doubting that at all, "replied
my guest, "I really think I should."

Mr. Pycroft was sitting near the window, but
my reading-lamp upon the table made the room
rather too light for our observations. So I
pushed the table away to the other end of the
room, turned down the wick of the lamp, and
lowered the shade over it as well.

"Well," said Mr. Pycroft, "I see nothing at
present but a white blind with a light behind it."

The shadow of the little wife's head was