exciting adventure, he would have taken this opportunity of getting away
from such a very questionable neighborhood. But, in the first place, he
was struck by the girl's story, which seemed to fit in only too well
with what he knew; and in the second place, he was interested in the
girl herself, the refinement of whose face and manner, in these dubious
surroundings, had impressed him as much as the expression of horror on
her face and the agony of cold which had caused her teeth to chatter and
her limbs to tremble.

Surely, he thought, the suspicions he had for a moment entertained about
her were incorrect. He began to feel that he could not go away without
making an effort to ascertain if there were any truth in her story.

He went along the passage and got back to the wharf by the same means as
before. Making his way round the pile of timber upon which he had first
seen the girl, he discovered a little lane, partly between and partly
over the planks, which he promptly followed in the hope of coming in
sight of her again.

And, crouching under the wall of a ruinous outhouse, in an attitude
expressive of the dejection of utter abandonment, was the white-faced
girl.

The discovery was enough for Max. All considerations of prudence, of
caution, crumbled away under the influence of the intense pity he felt
for the forlorn creature.

"Look here," said he, "I'll go in, if you like. Have you got a light?"

"No--o," answered the girl, in a voice which was thick with sobs. "But I