The instant he appeared, she recognised him--Who could have failed to recognise, in that instant, the ugly misshapen Quilp! The street beyond was so narrow, and the shadow of the houses on one side of the way so deep, that he seemed to have risen out of the earth.
But there he was.

The child withdrew into a dark corner, and saw him pass close to her.

He had a stick in his hand, and, when he had got clear of the shadow of the gateway, he leant upon it, looked back--directly, as it seemed, towards where she stood--and beckoned.
To her?
oh no, thank God, not to her; for as she stood, in an extremity of fear, hesitating whether to scream for help, or come from her hiding-place and fly, before he should draw nearer, there issued slowly forth from the arch another figure--that of a boy--who carried on his back a trunk.
'Faster, sirrah!' cried Quilp, looking up at the old gateway, and showing in the moonlight like some monstrous image that had come down from its niche and was casting a backward glance at its old house, 'faster!' 'It's a dreadful heavy load, Sir,' the boy pleaded.

'I've come on very fast, considering.' 'YOU have come fast, considering!' retorted Quilp; 'you creep, you dog, you crawl, you measure distance like a worm.

There are the chimes now, half-past twelve.' He stopped to listen, and then turning upon the boy with a suddenness and ferocity that made him start, asked at what hour that London coach passed the corner of the road.