the girl had disappeared, the policeman, who had paused to listen, shook
his head mournfully, and said, while he moved on,--

"Poor thing! they should not let her always go about by herself; and yet,
who would harm her?"

Meanwhile the girl proceeded along the lane, which was skirted by small,
but not mean houses, till it terminated in a cross-stile that admitted
into a church yard. Here hung the last lamp in the path, and a few dint
stars broke palely over the long grass, and scattered gravestones,
without piercing the deep shadow which the church threw over a large
portion of the sacred ground. Just as she passed the stile, the man,
whom we have before noticed, and who had been leaning, as if waiting for
some one, against the pales, approached, and said gently,--

"Ah, Miss! it is a lone place for one so beautiful as you are to be
alone. You ought never to be on foot."

The girl stopped, and looked full, but without any alarm in her eyes,
into the man's face.

"Go away!" she said, with a half-peevish, half-kindly tone of command.
"I don't know you."

"But I have been sent to speak to you by one who does know you, Miss--one
who loves you to distraction--he has seen you before at Mrs. West's. He
is so grieved to think you should walk--you ought, he says, to have every
luxury--that he has sent his carriage for you. It is on the other side
of the yard. Do come now;" and he laid his hand, though very lightly, on
her arm.