When at last the play was ended, we forced our way through the departing crowd so as to arrive almost with the first upon the scene of waiting footmen, shouting drivers, turbulent chair-men, clamorous boys with dim lanterns or flaming torches, and such attendants upon the nightly emptying of a playhouse.  Through this crush we fought our way, hastened around into a darker street, comparatively quiet and deserted, and found a door with a feeble lamp over it, which, as a surly old fellow within told us, served as stage entrance to the theatre.  We crossed the dirty street, and took up our station in the shadow opposite the door; whence a few actors not required in the final scene, or not having to make much alteration of attire for the street, were already emerging, bent first, I suppose, for one or other of the many taverns or coffee-houses about Covent Garden near at hand.

While we were waiting, two chair-men came with their vehicle and set it down at one side of the door, and a few boys and women gathered in the hope of obtaining sixpence by some service of which a player might perchance be in need on issuing forth.  And presently a coach appeared at the corner of the street, and stopped there, whereupon a gentleman got out of it, gave the driver and footman some commands, and while the conveyance remained where it was, approached alone, at a blithe gait, and took post near us, though more in the light shed by the lamp over the stage door.

“Gad’s life!” I exclaimed, in a whisper.

“What is it?” asked Phil, in a similar voice.

“Falconer!” I replied, ere I had thought.

Philip gazed at the newcomer, who was heedless of our presence.  Phil seemed about to stride forward to him, but reconsidered, and whispered to me, in a strange tone: 

“What can he be doing here, where she—?  You are sure that’s the man?”

“Yes—­but not now—­’tis not the place—­we came for another purpose—­”

“I know—­but if I lose him!”

“No fear of that.  I’ll keep track of him—­learn where he’s to be found—­while you meet her.”

“But if he—­if she—­”

“Wait and see.  His being here, may not in any way concern her.  Mere coincidence, no doubt.”

“I hope to God it is!” whispered Phil, though his voice quivered.  “Nay, I’ll believe it is, too, till I see otherwise.”

“Good!  And when I learn his haunts, as I shall before I sleep, you may find him at any time.”

And so we continued to wait, keeping in the darkness, so that the captain, even if he had deigned to be curious, could not have made out our faces from where he stood.  Philip watched him keenly, to stamp his features upon memory, as well as they could be observed in the yellow light of the sickly lamp; but yet, every few moments Phil cast an eager glance at the door.  I grant I was less confident that Falconer’s presence was mere coincidence, than I had appeared, and I was in a tremble of apprehension for what Madge’s coming might reveal.