“I saw him in the street, when I was out just now. He looked at me, and stood near me. I am afraid of him.” “Afraid of him! Why?” “I don’t know why—I—stop! husband!” for he was going towards the stranger. She had one hand pressed upon her forehead, and one upon her breast; and there was a peculiar fluttering all over her, and a hurried unsteady motion of her eyes, as if she had lost something. “Are you ill, my dear?” “What is it that is going from me again?” she muttered, in a low voice. “What _is_ this that is going away?” Then she abruptly answered: “Ill? No, I am quite well,” and stood looking vacantly at the floor. Her husband, who had not been altogether free from the infection of her fear at first, and whom the present strangeness of her manner did not tend to reassure, addressed himself to the pale visitor in the black cloak, who stood still, and whose eyes were bent upon the ground. “What may be your pleasure, sir,” he asked, “with us?” “I fear that my coming in unperceived,” returned the visitor, “has alarmed you; but you were talking and did not hear me.” “My little woman says—perhaps you heard her say it,” returned Mr. Tetterby, “that it’s not the first time you have alarmed her to-night.” “I am sorry for it. I remember to have observed her, for a few moments only, in the street. I had no intention of frightening her.” As he raised his eyes in speaking, she raised hers. It was extraordinary to see what dread she had of him, and with what dread he observed it—and yet how narrowly and closely. “My name,” he said, “is Redlaw. I come from the old college hard by. A young gentleman who is a student there, lodges in your house, does he not?” “Mr. Denham?” said Tetterby. “Yes.” It was a natural action, and so slight as to be hardly noticeable; but the little man, before speaking again, passed his hand across his forehead, and looked quickly round the room, as though he were sensible of some change in its atmosphere. The Chemist, instantly transferring to him the look of dread he had directed towards the wife, stepped back, and his face turned paler. “The gentleman’s room,” said Tetterby, “is upstairs, sir. There’s a more convenient private entrance; but as you have come in here, it will save your going out into the cold, if you’ll take this little staircase,” showing one communicating directly with the parlour, “and go up to him that way, if you wish to see him.” “Yes, I wish to see him,” said the Chemist. “Can you spare a light?” The watchfulness of his haggard look, and the inexplicable distrust that darkened it, seemed to trouble Mr. Tetterby. He paused; and looking fixedly at him in return, stood for a minute or so, like a man stupefied, or fascinated. At length he said, “I’ll light you, sir, if you’ll follow me.” “No,” replied the Chemist, “I don’t wish to be attended, or announced to him. He does not expect me. I would rather go alone. Please to give me the light, if you can spare it, and I’ll find the way.”