Again and again he had encountered this woman since he had determined to question her--upon the bridge at early dawn; by night, in the crowded streets, dressed in the extreme of fashion; shabbily dressed by day; but she always fled, and contrived to elude him. Who was she? What was she? How came she intimate with Lucy? Was it merely for the child's sake? Then why Lucy's dread? The opportunity was here, he told himself, and he would know; and then, as he formed the determination, he stepped quickly out; but no sooner did Agnes Hardon catch sight of the curate's pale, stern face by the sickly flicker of the one lamp than she turned and fled, while, without pausing to think, the curate closed the door and pursued her. A dark, gusty time, late, for two had struck but a minute before by church after church--some sending their booming announcement clearly out upon the night air, others discordantly, and jangling with the bells of others. Turning towards the end of the court, Agnes ran swiftly, her dress rustling, and fashionable boots pattering upon the pavement; but her pursuer was quick of foot, and followed her along the end row, through Harker's-alley, Ray's-court, along one labyrinth and down another of the old district, now falling beneath the contractor's pick, till they had nearly returned to the point from whence they started. But flight was of no avail, and soon Arthur Sterne overtook the panting woman, himself breathless, and, heedless of her fierce looks, caught her by the wrist. "Come with me," he said sternly, as he drew her towards the entrance of the dark court where they stood. "Why, why?" she exclaimed passionately, struggling with him the while. "Why do you stop me? Why do you pursue me--you, too, a clergyman?" The answer to the taunt was a cold look, which Agnes Hardon saw and felt; for the next moment she was weeping passionately. "Why do you track and follow me, sir?" she exclaimed through her tears. "Let me go; you hurt my arm!" "Will you stand and answer my questions, then?" said the curate, as they now stood at the entrance of the court--a dark, gloomy archway, with a doorway here and there. "Yes, yes," exclaimed Agnes wearily, "if you will be quick; but there, I know what you would say, and it is of no use; I am past all that!" "Past all what?" cried the curate sternly. "Hope of better things," said the woman with so weary and despondent a wail, that her hearer shuddered. "Hush!" he said; "you speak rashly, and without thinking;" and releasing her wrist, he laid his hand gently upon her arm. "Listen," he said; "you have your woman's feelings yet!" "No," she replied hastily, "all--all gone; driven out of me--dead. Let me go, please; it's late, sir. I am a wretch, and it is useless to talk." "But why do you pursue that young girl?" he said, pointing across the street to where Bennett's-rents debouched. "Would you tempt her to be your companion?"