They all got into the
carriage, and Malcolm braced himself for a terrible run. But the
coachman drove carefully, the snow lay a few inches deep, and he
found no difficulty in keeping near them, following with fleet foot
and husbanded breath.
They stopped at the doors of a large dark looking building in a
narrow street He thought it was a church, and wondered that so his
sister should be going there on a week night. Nor did the aspect
of the entrance hall, into which he followed them, undeceive him.
It was more showy, certainly, than the vestibule of any church he
had ever been in before, but what might not churches be in London?
They went up a great flight of stairs--to reach the gallery, as
he thought, and still he went after them. When he reached the top,
they were just vanishing round a curve, and his advance was checked:
a man came up to him, said he could not come there, and gruffly
requested him to show his ticket.
"I haven't got one. What is this place?" said Malcolm, whom the
aspect of the man had suddenly rendered doubtful, mouthing his English
with Scotch deliberation. The man gave him a look of contemptuous
surprise, and turning to another who lounged behind him with his
hands in his pockets, said--"Tom, here's a gentleman as wants to
know where he is: can you tell him?" The person addressed laughed,
and gave Malcolm a queer look.
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