The carriage drove away, and left the little
group standing just outside the church gate.

"If you are going home, your way lies for
some distance in our direction, Charlewood,"
said Mr. Fluke.

Then the two elder clergymen moved away
arm in arm, and the curate, with incomprehensible
want of gallantry, hurried on to join
them. Miss Fluke and Clement were left standing
side by side. Under the circumstances
there was nothing for it but for Clement to
offer her his arm. She took it. If I were to
say she seized it, the expression might not be
too strong to convey the energy of Miss Fluke's
action. They walked on in the wake of the
three clergymen, tracking their black-coated
figures through the crowd of passers-by. All
the world seemed to be in the streets enjoying
the twilight after the sultry glare of the day.
It was not a quite easy task to steer Miss Fluke
through a London thoroughfare. Her mode of
progression was uncompromising. She turned
neither to the right nor to the left, but pressed
on valiantly with squared shoulders. This led
to occasional complications of an unpleasant
nature, and the frequent repetition of the angry
question, "Where are you shoving to?"
Presently they lost sight of the three black coats
before them.

"I suppose you know the address of the
house you are going to?" said Clement.

"No; I do not," replied Miss Fluke, in a
firm cheerful voice.

Clement stared at her. The position, was not
an agreeable one.

"Had we not better press on, then, a little,
and try to rejoin your party?" he suggested.

"I know we have to go across Blackfriars-
bridge," said Miss Fluke.

It was at least a point to steer towards, and
they hastened on at a round pace. They were
now in a labyrinth of poor streets. Long lines
of one-story houses, their fronts smeared with
grime in streaks, like the traces of tears on a
dirty face. Most of the doors were wide open,
and children swarmed up and down the steps.
Men in their shirt-sleeves stood at the open
doors, smoking. At one house which they
passed, a tall, dark, melancholy man, with
tangled black hair, was leaning against the side-
posts of the front door. He had a pipe between
his teeth, but it had either never been lighted, or
had gone out. He stood quite still with folded
arms, and they saw him from a long distance
as they came up the straight narrow street.
When they were within a few yards of him,
his eyes fell upon Miss Fluke and her
companion, and quite suddenly he turned and
entered the little house, shutting the door after
him. Miss Fluke stopped short, with a
cogitating expression of countenance.

"Now, where have I seen that man?" she said.
"His face is familiar to me—most familiar."

"I don't know, really," said Clement, trying
to urge her forward again. "We had better
be moving; it will be so exceedingly disagreeable
for you if you lose your friends."

Miss Fluke continued to stand still in a
meditative manner. You could not say she
looked placid; she was always too obviously
brimful of latent activity for that; but she
appeared as impervious to the fact that she was
blocking up the narrow foot-pavement as a
steam locomotive might have been. A large
dog that had tried to pass her, first on one
side and then on the other, now made a rush,
and squeezed himself between Miss Fluke's
muslin skirts and the wall, causing her to
stagger for an instant. Clement took advantage
of the circumstance to pull her forward by the
arm that rested on his, so they got under way
again.

"That dog is going to the house where the
man was," said Miss Fluke, looking over her
shoulder, and speaking very loud. "Yes; see,
he is sitting on the door-step waiting for
somebody. Now I wonder where I can have seen
that man's face! It is most familiar."

If it were difficult to steer Miss Fluke
through the streets when she looked before her,
it became almost impossible to do so when she
walked with her head turned over her shoulder.
Clement was almost in despair, when he spied a
black-robed messenger of deliverance coming
towards them. It was Mr. Lubbock, sent back
to fetch Miss Fluke and guide her to her
father.

"We missed you, and feared that you might
not know the way," said Mr. Lubbock, saluting
Clement.

The latter resigned his precious charge to
the care of the curate. "My road lies in the
opposite direction," he said—I am sorry to
record—untruthfully. Miss Fluke shook hands
with him and walked off with Mr. Lubbock,
whom she speedily involved in dire confusion by
reiterated and all-embracing questions as to the
spiritual state of the poor in his parish.

Clement stood for one instant watching them,
and was turning to pursue his own way, when
the big dog bounced up to him again, and at
the same moment a small hand was put into his,
and a sweet voice said timidly, "Mr. Charlewood,
won't you speak to me?"

"Corda!" he cried, in surprise. "Corda
Trescott!"

"Yes," said Corda, smiling and panting,
with the delicate colour changing in her cheeks,
"it is Corda Trescott, that you were so good
to."

"Are you alone, Corda?"

"Oh no; that gentleman has been taking me
for a country walk. He is very kind, and often
takes me out when papa has not time to go
with me."

Corda pointed down the street to the house
where the dog had been waiting, and at the
door of which a queer hatchet-faced old man
was standing, leaning on a knotted stick.

"This is his dog," continued Corda. "Such
a clever dog! See, he knows I'm speaking of
him; and he knows that you are a friend of
mine too, else he would bark at you."

"Do you live in that house?" asked Clement.