was bad and the night dark; the lantern threw a circle of light around us, but all beyond was impenetrable; still, the hope of shelter at the end made the walk agreeable to me.  We stumbled along in silence, and by and by heard the barking of dogs that always heralds a night approach to a village.  The first house that greeted my eyes had the welcome signboard swinging before it, and above its lintel a bush.  It was a tiny place, but it was a refuge, and I felt quite cheerful as I requested the old tar to knock.

    “He did so, and the sound echoed and re-echoed, but there was no
    response.

    “‘Again,’ I said, and ‘again,’ and ‘again,’ with no better result. 
    It was anything but encouraging.

    “’They cannot hear, they are asleep:  take up a stone and beat the
    door.  You must awaken them.’

“He obediently picked up a stone, and there followed a noise like thunder.  I should not have been surprised to see the wee house tilt over and lie down on its side under the force of the blows.  Now a gruff voice called out, ‘What do you want?’

    “‘Lodging.’

    “‘We have no room for any one:  go away.’

“‘Tell him I must stay,’ And with the help of my prompting the old fellow put my case in the most persuasive light possible, but, although we talked and knocked with perseverance, the owner of the voice neither appeared, nor would he vouchsafe us another answer.  One might have thought the house had been suddenly enchanted.

    “‘It is of no use—­of no use whatever:  they will not open,’ finally
    said my exhausted companion.

    “‘Is there no other inn here?’

    “‘No:  you will have to return.’

    “‘Then you must take me to Creil.’

    “’That I can’t do.  I have been away too long already:  there is a
    freight-train expected, and I must see that the track is clear.  We
    must go back;’ and he turned resolutely and led the way.

“Just as we left the village a gay party of peasant-girls passed us coming from a ball, laughing and chatting merrily with their beaus.  I had an insane idea of accosting them, appealing to their pity, and asking them to keep me for the night, but fear lest they should refuse restrained me:  I was too dejected to risk a second repulse.  I have been able to realize the poetical things they tell us of the sensations of outcasts, of adventurers; and homeless wanderers ever since.  The sight of this merry party made me feel more terribly alone; and the beaus—­well, I confess I did wonder what Fred was doing at that moment.  Then I thought of the horror of my aunt could she know where I was, and what she would think of the ‘footsteps’ her own niece was making just then, could she see her.

    “When we arrived at the station my guide preceded me to the
    waiting-room, and I, completely worn out, meekly followed him.