One evening, late in March, the former was taking his usual brief walk before sitting down to long hours of study.  He was at liberty to go whither he pleased, and not unnaturally his steps, for the hundredth time, perhaps, passed the door through which he could catch a glimpse of the young girl, who, with apparent hopelessness, and yet with such pathetic patience, was fighting a long battle with disheartening adversity.  He was later than usual, and the employees were beginning to leave.  Suddenly the obnoxious floor-walker appeared at the entrance with a hurried and intent manner.  Then he paused a second or two and concealed himself behind a show-case.  Roger now saw that his eyes were fixed on a girl who had just preceded him, and who, after a furtive glance backward, hastened up the avenue.  Her pursuer—­for such he evidently was—­followed instantly, and yet sought to lose himself in the crowd so that she could not detect him.  Partly in the hope of learning something to the disadvantage of one who might have it in his power to injure Mildred, and partly from the motive of adding zest to an aimless walk, Roger followed the man.

The girl, with another quick glance over her shoulder, at last turned down a side street, and was soon walking alone where passengers were few and the street much in shadow; here her pursuer joined her, and she soon evinced violent agitation, stopping suddenly with a gesture of indignant protest.  He said something, however, that subdued her speedily, and they went on together for some little distance, the man talking rapidly, and then they turned into a long, dark passage that led to some tenements in the rear of those fronting on the street.  About midway in this narrow alley a single gas jet burned, and under its light Roger saw them stop, and the girl produce from beneath her waterproof cloak something white, that appeared like pieces of wound lace.  The man examined them, made a memorandum, and then handed them back to the girl, who hesitated to take them; but his manner was so threatening and imperious that she again concealed them on her person.  As they came out together, Roger, with hat drawn over his eyes, gave them a glance which fixed the malign features of the man and the frightened, guilty visage of the girl on his memory.  They regarded him suspiciously, but, as he went on without looking back, they evidently thought him a casual passer-by.

“It’s a piece of villany,” Roger muttered, “but of what nature I have no means of discovering, even were it any affair of mine.  I am satisfied of one thing, however—­that man’s a scoundrel; seemingly he has the girl in his power, and it looks as if she had been stealing goods and he is compounding the felony with her.”