“Good Heaven, aunt!” said I. “He is nothing but a sturdy beggar.”

“You don’t know what he is!” replied my aunt. “You don’t know who he is! You don’t know what you say!”

We had stopped in an empty doorway, while this was passing, and he had stopped too.

“Don’t look at him!” said my aunt, as I turned my head indignantly, “but get me a coach, my dear, and wait for me in St. Paul’s Churchyard.”

“Wait for you?” I replied.

“Yes,” rejoined my aunt. “I must go alone. I must go with him.”

“With him, aunt? This man?”