Unable to find Julia in the very street she inhabited, Alfred felt weak
against fate. He said to himself, "If I find her, I shall perhaps wish I
had never sought her."
In his hour of dejection stern reason would be heard, and asked him
whether all Mrs. Archbold had said could be pure invention; and he was
obliged to confess that was too unlikely. Then he felt so sick at heart
he was half minded to turn and fly the street. But there was a large yard
close by him, entered by a broad and lofty gateway cut through one of the
houses. The yard belonged to a dealer in hay: two empty waggons were
there, but no men visible, being their dinner-time. Alfred slipped in
here, and sat down on the shaft of a waggon; and let his courage ooze. He
sighed, and sighed, and feared to know his fate. And so he sat with his
face in his hands unmanned.
Presently a strain of music broke on his ear. It seemed to come from the
street. He raised his head to listen. He coloured, his eyes sparkled; he
stole out on tiptoe with wondering, inquiring face into the street. Once
there, he stood spell-bound, thrilling from his heart, that seemed now on
fire, to his fingers' ends.
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