preoccupied by my own thoughts, I did not ask for whom he
was looking.

"Shall I not go with you?" he asked, when we had reached
home.

"You had better wait up for me; I shall not be gone long," I
answered.

"I can walk back again when we get there, or perhaps I can
wait for you in the hotel?" said he.

He was not yet accustomed to life in a great city, and it
did not seem wise, either, to permit him to walk home alone,
or to wait for me in the hotel among strangers. He did not
seem quite content to stay, however, and there was a
troubled expression on his face, which was new to it, and
which I could not put out of my mind after I had left the
house. The hotel to which I had been directed was on Union
Square. It was not far from our apartments, and I intended
to walk there, but I had not gone half a block before the
street was lit up with a vivid flash of lightning, followed
by deafening thunder, and the wind blew damp in my face. I
hurried toward Third Avenue, intending to mount one of the
horse cars going down-town, but suddenly a fierce gust of
wind swept over me, sowing great drops of rain along the
pavement. I looked about for a cab. The street was deserted
and so dark that I could see nothing except the gloomy rows
of brown stone that stood on either side. While I was
looking backward another flash of lightning illumined the