in corners under wheels of wind, the schoolmaster and the pupil emerged upon the Leadenhall Street region, spying eastward for Lizzie. Being something too soon in their arrival, they lurked at a corner, waiting for her to appear. The best-looking among us will not look very well, lurking at a corner, and Bradley came out of that disadvantage very poorly indeed.
“Here she comes, Mr. Headstone! Let us go forward and meet her.”
As they advanced, she saw them coming, and seemed rather troubled. But she greeted her brother with the usual warmth, and touched the extended hand of Bradley.
“Why, where are you going, Charley, dear?” she asked him then.
“Nowhere. We came on purpose to meet you.”
“To meet me, Charley?”
“Yes. We are going to walk with you. But don’t let us take the great leading streets where everyone walks, and we can’t hear ourselves speak. Let us go by the quiet backways. Here’s a large paved court by this church, and quiet, too. Let us go up here.”
“But it’s not in the way, Charley.”
“Yes it is,” said the boy, petulantly. “It’s in my way, and my way is yours.”
She had not released his hand, and, still holding it, looked at him with a kind of appeal. He avoided her eyes, under pretence of saying, “Come along, Mr. Headstone.” Bradley walked at his side—not at hers—and the brother and sister walked hand in hand. The court brought them to a churchyard; a paved square court, with a raised bank of earth about breast high, in the middle, enclosed by iron rails. Here, conveniently and