In a sudden recollection that Burlington’s Arcade was opened, he speculated with some certainty that he might encounter her there. As he turned back up the street amidst the usual confluence of walkers, riders, cabs, drays, gigs, stage-coaches, chaises, sedan-chairs, and peddlers’ carts, he became conscious of an immense clamour, and found his progress thoroughly impeded by a circus troupe, extending for several blocks in either direction. The number of waggons, carts, horses, musicians, jugglers, animals, and such-like, and the crowds milling around them, rendered crossing the street impossible. He instinctively put his hand into his pocket and clasped his pocket-book, as such a disorder was the delight of pick-pockets. Pacing up and down for some minutes to find a space in the parade, he finally espied a small gap and leapt through it, nearly oversetting a cartful of clown-puppets being pulled along by a great dog, and almost knocking down a man in striped trousers strolling above the procession on a pair of stilts. Without further hesitation, he crossed the street and entered the walkway of the covered arcade.

The place was bustling by this hour, and he was unable to see very far within the length of the building. He pushed along with the crowd impatiently, again unwilling to enter any of the shops for fear of missing her; he made his way up and down the crowded arcade for some several minutes before turning again into the street.

CHAP. 20.

FOR SOME REASON, and without any further plan, he walked back in the direction whence he was come. She was facing away from him, looking up the street for a moment to cross. They were separated by only a few dozen yards, but it seemed to take an eternity for him to reach her. When he did, he stopt behind her, afraid to reach out an arm to her, lest he startle her by his presence or by speaking.

But his agony of indecision was ended because—perhaps she sensed him—Georgiana turned around abruptly, and with no little surprise, addressed him, “Colonel Fitzwilliam!—Viscount—What are you doing here?” Recollecting herself and trying to respond with greater civility, or at least with a pretense to a composure she did not possess, continued, “It is a most unaccountable pleasure to meet you here. How do you do?”

“Who is this?” he asked, dropping down on one knee to speak to Betsey.

“I am Betsey Vale, sir, an’ I am goin’ home wif’ Miss George-Anna.”

Seeing the Colonel’s startled expression, Georgiana’s confusion of mind was increased by the recollection that her own reply would be overheard by Betsey, and needed to be very carefully formed so as not to include anything which might add further wound and distrust to feelings already long-abused. In this, however, Georgiana had underestimated the child’s courage; Betsey turned her face up to meet the Colonel’s eyes squarely and added,