incapacitated me from performing my usual daily occupations. It was a
theme to which, at every interval of leisure from business or discourse,
I did not fail to return. At those times I employed myself in examining
the subject on all sides; in supposing particular emergencies, and
delineating the conduct that was proper to be observed on each. My daily
thoughts were, by no means, so fear-inspiring as the meditations of the
night had been.

As soon as I left the banker's door, my meditations fell into this
channel. I again reviewed the recent occurrences, and imagined the
consequences likely to flow from them. My deductions were not, on this
occasion, peculiarly distressful. The return of darkness had added
nothing to my apprehensions. I regarded Wiatte merely as one against
whose malice it was wise to employ the most vigilant precautions. In
revolving these precautions nothing occurred that was new. The danger
appeared without unusual aggravations, and the expedients that offered
themselves to my choice were viewed with a temper not more sanguine or
despondent than before.

In this state of mind I began and continued my walk. The distance was
considerable between my own habitation and that which I had left. My way
lay chiefly through populous and well-frequented streets. In one part of
the way, however, it was at the option of the passenger either to keep
along the large streets, or considerably to shorten the journey by
turning into a dark, crooked, and narrow lane. Being familiar with every
part of this metropolis, and deeming it advisable to take the shortest
and obscurest road, I turned into the alley. I proceeded without
interruption to the next turning. One night-officer, distinguished by
his usual ensigns, was the only person who passed me. I had gone three
steps beyond when I perceived a man by my side. I had scarcely time to