What subtle vapour affected the fair and beautiful girl--surely subject to no distempered fancies, glowing as she was with health, and with pulses beating joyously--that she should suddenly pause and gaze upon the snow with a troubled air? What subtle vapour affected the wan and exhausted woman behind her that at the same moment she also should pause and hold her thin, transparent hand to her eyes, to shut out the white glare of the snow that troubled her soul? There was a curious resemblance in their attitudes as they thus stood in silence--the girl in the light, the woman in the shade. A gust of wind, if it did not dispel the vapour, stirred the actors in this scene into motion, and the girl and her lover--for there could be no doubt of the relation they bore to each other--resumed their walk, Mrs. Lenoir still following them with steps that grew more feeble every moment. Of the conversation between the lovers not a word had reached her. Now and again she heard the sound of the girl's voice when it was raised higher than usual, but the words that accompanied it were lost upon her. She had formed a distinct purpose during the journey, if in her weak condition of mind and body any purpose she wished to carry out can be called distinct. She would keep them in sight until the man had taken his departure, and the girl was alone. Then she would accost the girl, and look into her face. That was the end of her thought; the hopes and fears which enthralled and supported her were too wild and whirring for clear interpretation. And yet it appeared as though she herself feared to be seen; for once or twice when the man or the girl looked back, Mrs. Lenoir shrank tremblingly and in pitiable haste into the obscurity of the deeper shadows of the night. They were now in the east of London, near Rosemary Lane, and the girl paused and stopped her companion, with the remark: "You must not come any further." This was so far fortunate for Mrs. Lenoir, inasmuch as otherwise she would have lost sight of those she had followed. Nature had conquered, and a faintness like the faintness of death was stealing upon her. The man and the girl were long in bidding each other goodnight. It was said half-a-dozen times, and still he lingered, loth to leave her. "Remember," he said, as he stood with his arm around her, "you have promised not to mention my name to your people." "Yes, I have promised. But why won't you come and see them? I should like you to." "It can't be done, my little bird. You are sensible enough to understand why a gentleman in my position can't run the danger of forming intimacies with common persons." "But I am a common person," said the girl, archly challenging a contradiction. "You are a lady, and if you are not, I'll make you one. When you are away from them, I want you to be well away. You wouldn't like to be dragged down again." "No--you are right, I dare say. Poor Sally!"