the gas-lamps stretching away in perspective, and the dead
silence, and then perhaps the rush and clatter of a hansom on
the stones, and the fire starting up under the horse's hoofs.
I walked along pretty briskly, for I was feeling a little tired
of being out in the night, and as the clocks were striking two
I turned down Ashley Street, which, you know, is on my way. It
was quieter than ever there, and the lamps were fewer;
altogether, it looked as dark and gloomy as a forest in winter.
I had done about half the length of the street when I heard a
door closed very softly, and naturally I looked up to see who
was abroad like myself at such an hour. As it happens, there
is a street lamp close to the house in question, and I saw a man
standing on the step. He had just shut the door and his face
was towards me, and I recognized Crashaw directly. I never knew
him to speak to, but I had often seen him, and I am positive
that I was not mistaken in my man. I looked into his face for a
moment, and then--I will confess the truth--I set off at a
good run, and kept it up till I was within my own door."

"Why?"

"Why? Because it made my blood run cold to see that
man's face. I could never have supposed that such an infernal
medley of passions could have glared out of any human eyes; I
almost fainted as I looked. I knew I had looked into the eyes
of a lost soul, Austin, the man's outward form remained, but all
hell was within it. Furious lust, and hate that was like fire,
and the loss of all hope and horror that seemed to shriek aloud
to the night, though his teeth were shut; and the utter
blackness of despair. I am sure that he did not see me; he saw