or on whom to pour his rage--beheld suddenly, in a quiet, half-built
street, which led from the suburb to the New Road, Arabella Crane
standing right in his path. She had emerged from one of the many
straight intersecting roads which characterise that crude nebula of a
future city; and the woman and the man met thus face to face; not another
passer-by visible in the thoroughfare;--at a distance the dozing hack
cab-stand; round and about them carcases of brick and mortar--some with
gaunt scaffolding fixed into their ribs, and all looking yet more weird
in their raw struggle into shape through the living haze of a yellow fog.

Losely, seeing Arabella thus planted in his way, recoiled; and the
superstition in which he had long associated her image with baffled
schemes and perilous hours sent the wrathful blood back through his veins
so quickly that be heard his heart beat!

MRS. CRANE.--"SO! You see we cannot help meeting, Jasper dear, do what
you will to shun me."

LOSELY." I--I--you always startle me so!--you are in town, then?--to
stay?--your old quarters?"

MRS. CRANE.--"Why ask? You cannot wish to know where I am--you would not
call. But how fares it?--what do you do?--how do you live? You look
ill--Poor Jasper."

LOSELY (fiercely).--"Hang your pity, and give me some money."

MRS. CRANE (calmly laying her lean hand on the arm which was darted
forward more in menace than entreaty, and actually terrifying the
Gladiator as she linked that deadly arm into her own).--"I said you would