"Only this old floor cracking. Don't flatter it by noticing. How odd to
find, meeting in this way, that we are both searching for the same man.
Isn't it?"

"It--seems to me even odder to find that he is not searching for me."

She was sitting, so he judged from the sound, about fifteen feet away.
There was coldness in her voice as she spoke of the candidate. Varney
felt sorry for that young man when he next held converse with her. From
her voice he had also gathered that the dark rather frightened her, and
that the presence of an unknown man had not allayed her uneasiness;
though something of her reserve had vanished, he thought, when she found
that the intruder knew Mr. Hare.

"Oh, but he was--is!" he cried encouragingly.

"I'm positive that he's searching for you at this minute. Why, of
course--certainly! That would explain the whole thing."

Sitting damply on the dark stairway, he told of J. Pinkney Hare's
evidently impromptu experiences in the public square, which had
undoubtedly knocked from his mind all memory of his engagement at the
seamstress's; and of the sudden recollection of it, which, there could
be no question, was what had sent him and his new friend bursting out of
the house and tearing for dear life up the road.

"I'll bet," said he, "that not a minute after you turned into shelter,
they raced by here after you. Now they're kicking their heels at the
sewing-lady's, probably soaked through, and wild to know if you got home
safely. Oh, he's being punished for his sins, never fear."