shadow of the leaves was grateful; instead of the burnt atmosphere
of cities, there was something brisk and rural in the air; and
Challoner paced forward, his eyes upon the pavement and his mind
running upon distant scenes, till he was recalled, upon a sudden,
by a wall that blocked his further progress. This street, whose
name I have forgotten, is no thoroughfare.

He was not the first who had wandered there that morning; for as he
raised his eyes with an agreeable deliberation, they alighted on
the figure of a girl, in whom he was struck to recognise the third
of the incongruous fugitives. She had run there, seemingly,
blindfold; the wall had checked her career: and being entirely
wearied, she had sunk upon the ground beside the garden railings,
soiling her dress among the summer dust. Each saw the other in the
same instant of time; and she, with one wild look, sprang to her
feet and began to hurry from the scene.

Challoner was doubly startled to meet once more the heroine of his
adventure, and to observe the fear with which she shunned him.
Pity and alarm, in nearly equal forces, contested the possession of
his mind; and yet, in spite of both, he saw himself condemned to
follow in the lady's wake. He did so gingerly, as fearing to
increase her terrors; but, tread as lightly as he might, his
footfalls eloquently echoed in the empty street. Their sound
appeared to strike in her some strong emotion; for scarce had he
begun to follow ere she paused. A second time she addressed
herself to flight; and a second time she paused. Then she turned
about, and with doubtful steps and the most attractive appearance
of timidity, drew near to the young man. He on his side continued
to advance with similar signals of distress and bashfulness. At