from me, and she was gone like a shadow."

"Dame Crombie is no shadow, and never vanishes like one," resumed Edward.
"You have mistaken the slipshod servant-girl for a lady."

"Ay; but she had a white hand, a small white hand," said the student,
piqued at Edward's contemptuous opinion of his powers of observation; "as
white as Ellen Langton's." He paused; for the lover was offended by the
profanity of the comparison, as was made evident by the blood that rushed
to his brow.

"We will appeal to the landlord," said Edward, recovering his equanimity,
and turning to Hugh, who just then entered the room. "Who is this angel,
mine host, that has taken up her abode in the Hand and Bottle?"

Hugh cast a quick glance from one to another before he answered, "I keep
no angels here, gentlemen. Dame Crombie would make the house anything but
heaven for them and me."

"And yet Glover has seen a vision in the passage-way,--a lady with a small
white hand."

"Ah, I understand! A slight mistake of the young gentleman's," said Hugh,
with the air of one who could perfectly account for the mystery. "Our
passageway is dark; or perhaps the light had dazzled his eyes. It was the
Widow Fowler's daughter, that came to borrow a pipe of tobacco for her
mother. By the same token, she put it into her own sweet mouth, and puffed
as she went along."

"But the white hand," said Glover, only half convinced.