The girl heard him coming and looked back anxiously.  This time he saw her face.  In a bound he was at her side.

“Sisily, Sisily!” he cried.  “Oh, Sisily, I have found you!”

CHAPTER XXVI

He saw her white face sharply uplifted in the darkness, and caught the startled gleam of her dark eyes.  Then she recognized him.

“You!” she breathed.  “Oh, Charles, how did you find me?”

“It was chance, Sisily—­but no, it was something deeper and stranger than chance.”  He spoke in a tone of passionate conviction.  “I have been walking London day and night, seeking for you.  I felt sure I should find you sooner or later.  I had given up hope for tonight, though.  It was so late—­so late—­” The tumult of his feelings checked his utterance.

“I dare not go out earlier,” she whispered.

That was a reminder which brought him back sharply to the reality of things.  He looked anxiously around him in the dark and empty street.  In the vulgar expression they were both “wanted”—­wanted by the police.  The danger was doubled now that they were together.  That was a freezing thought which had not occurred to him during his search for her.  It occurred to him now.

“I wonder where we could go and talk in safety?” he murmured—­“and decide what is best to do.”

“We might go to where I am staying,” she unexpectedly suggested.  “It is at the end of this street.”

“Would that be quite safe?” he hazarded doubtfully.

“I think so.  Mrs. Johns told me that she would be very late to-night.  She goes to spiritualistic meetings, and does not return home until early morning sometimes.  We should be alone, and free to talk.  There is nobody else in the house.”

He was too eager to raise any doubts of the safety of the suggested harbourage.  Their conversation, which had been carried on in suppressed and whispered tones, ceased as they advanced along the quiet street.  Near the end Sisily turned into the small garden of an unlighted house.  She unlocked the hall door, and they entered.  He saw her bending over the hallstand, and guessing her intention, struck a match.  She took it from him in silence, lit the hall gas, and shut the front door carefully.  Then she struck another match from a box on the hallstand, and preceding him into a room on the right, lit the gas there.

It was a small sitting-room, simply and almost shabbily furnished, remarkable for some strange articles which were heaped at random on various small tables.  There was a planchette, a tambourine, and other more mysterious appliances which suggested that the inmate spent much time with the trappings and rappings of spiritualism.  Papers and journals devoted to spiritualism were scattered about the room, and framed “spirit photographs” hung on the walls.