to snow. But through the snow and the night went carriages in all
directions, with great lamps that turned the flakes into white stars
for a moment as they gleamed past. The hoofs of the horses echoed
hard from the firm road.

Could that house really belong to him? It did, yet he dared not
enter it. That which was dear and precious to him was in the house,
and just because of that he could not call it his own. There was
less light in it than in any other within his range. He walked
up and down the opposite side of the street its whole length some
fifty times, but saw no sign of vitality about the house. At length
a brougham stopped at the door, and a man got out and knocked.
Malcolm instantly crossed, but could not see his face. The door
opened, and he entered. The brougham waited. After about a quarter
of an hour he came out again, accompanied by two ladies, one of
whom he judged by her figure to be Florimel. They all got into the
carriage, and Malcolm braced himself for a terrible run. But the
coachman drove carefully, the snow lay a few inches deep, and he
found no difficulty in keeping near them, following with fleet foot
and husbanded breath.

They stopped at the doors of a large dark looking building in a
narrow street He thought it was a church, and wondered that so his
sister should be going there on a week night. Nor did the aspect
of the entrance hall, into which he followed them, undeceive him.
It was more showy, certainly, than the vestibule of any church he
had ever been in before, but what might not churches be in London?
They went up a great flight of stairs--to reach the gallery, as
he thought, and still he went after them. When he reached the top,
they were just vanishing round a curve, and his advance was checked: