"I should narrate what has passed, in fair and temperate language, I hope." "I beg you," said Antony Cowlrick, earnestly, "to do me a great favour. Do not drag me before the public to-day. Nay, nor to-morrow. Give me three days' grace. It will be of service to me, and may help the cause of justice." The last words were spoken with an air of hesitation. "If I promise to do this--providing my Chief consents, and I think he will--you must allow me in return to become better acquainted with you." "Pick up what scraps you can, my literary Autolycus. Examine me well. Describe my appearance, manners, and bearing. Say that I belie my looks, and that I do not speak exactly like a ruffian. In all that, shrewd as you may be, you can only see the outside of me. Understand, if you please, that I shall not help you." "All right. Where do you intend to sleep to-night?" "God knows! I do not." "How are you going to live? Have you a trade?" Antony Cowlrick held out his hands. "Do these look like hands accustomed to hard work?" They were dirty with prison dirt, and were as soft and pliable as the hands of a lady. At this point, as he stood with his hand in the hand of our Reporter, the woman who had been knocked about by the crowd rose from the doorstep. Our Reporter felt a nervous twitching in the hand he held, and, looking up into the face of Antony Cowlrick, saw with surprise that it was agitated by a sudden and powerful emotion. Antony Cowlrick's eyes were fixed upon the woman, who was walking slowly away. She was young and fair, and in her movements there was an aimlessness which did not speak well for her character. But, as Mr. Goldberry observed, we live in levelling times, and it is hard to judge accurately of a person's social position from dress and manner. The locality was against this young and pretty woman; her being young and pretty was against her; her apparent want of occupation was against her. But she spoke to no one, looked at no one. Antony Cowlrick hastened after her. Our Reporter did not follow him. He was not acting the part of a detective. What he did was in pursuance of his duty, and it is not in his nature to give offence. Therefore he stood where Antony Cowlrick left him, and waited for events. When Antony Cowlrick reached the woman's side, he touched her arm, and spoke to her. She did not reply, but glanced carelessly at him, and, averting her eyes with a gesture of repugnance, pursued her way. Before she had taken three steps, Antony Cowlrick was again by her side. Again he touched her arm and addressed her; and this time, instead of attempting to avoid him, she turned and looked up at him. For a moment doubt was expressed in her face--only for a moment. As though a sudden and wonderful light had entered her soul, her face became illumined with joy. She was pretty before; now she was beautiful.