"Ah, you never told me this, you little rogue!" cried Mr. Thorneycroft. "You persuaded me to come out with you, in the hope of meeting Mr. Darcy; but you did not say you were sure to find him. So you sent this mysterious gentleman to her, eh?" he added to Auriol. "No, I did not," replied the other gloomily. "Indeed!" exclaimed the iron-merchant, with a puzzled look. "Oh, then I suppose he thought it might relieve her anxiety. However, since we have met, I hope you'll walk home and dine with us." Auriol was about to decline the invitation, but Ebba glanced at him entreatingly. "I have an engagement, but I will forego it," he said, offering his arm to her. And they walked along towards Oxford Street, while Mr. Thorneycroft followed, a few paces behind them. "This is very kind of you, Mr. Darcy," said Ebba. "Oh, I have been so wretched!" "I grieve to hear it," he rejoined. "I hoped you had forgotten me." "I am sure you did not think so," she cried. As she spoke, she felt a shudder pass through Auriol's frame. "What ails you?" she anxiously inquired. "I would have shunned you, if I could, Ebba," he replied; "but a fate, against which it is vain to contend, has brought us together again." "I am glad of it," she replied; "because, ever since our last interview, I have been reflecting on what you then said to me, and am persuaded you are labouring under some strange delusion, occasioned by your recent accident." "Be not deceived, Ebba," cried Auriol. "I am under a terrible influence. I need not remind you of the mysterious individual who tapped at your window last night." "What of him?" demanded Ebba, with a thrill of apprehension. "He it is who controls my destiny," replied Auriol. "But what has he to do with me?" asked Ebba. "Much, much," he replied, with a perceptible shudder. "You terrify me, Auriol," she rejoined. "Tell me what you mean--in pity, tell me?" Before Auriol could reply, Mr. Thorneycroft stepped forward, and turned the conversation into another channel. Soon after this, they reached the Quadrant, and were passing beneath the eastern colonnade, when Ebba's attention was attracted towards a man who was leading a couple of dogs by a string, while he had others under his arm, others again in his pocket, and another in his breast. It was Mr. Ginger. "What a pretty little dog!" cried Ebba, remarking the Charles the Second spaniel. "Allow me to present you with it?" said Auriol. "You know I should value it, as coming from you," she replied, blushing deeply; "but I cannot accept it; so I will not look at it again, for fear I should be tempted." The dog-fancier, however, noticing Ebba's admiration, held forward the spaniel, and said, "Do jist look at the pretty little creater, miss. It han't its equil for beauty. Don't be afeerd on it, miss. It's as gentle as a lamb."