lead out of
the Strand. Immediately before me, on the doorsteps of a large shop
whose closed shutters were as obstinate a stillness as if they had
guarded the secrets of seventeen centuries in a street in Pompeii,
reclined a form fast asleep, the arm propped on the hard stone
supporting the head, and the limbs uneasily strewn over the stairs.
The dress of the slumberer was travel-stained, tattered, yet with
the remains of a certain pretence; an air of faded, shabby, penniless
gentility made poverty more painful, because it seemed to indicate
unfitness to grapple with it. The face of this person was hollow and
pale, but its expression, even in sleep, was fierce and hard. I drew
near and nearer; I recognized the countenance, the regular features, the
raven hair, even a peculiar gracefulness of posture: the young man whom
I had met at the inn by the way-side, and who had left me alone with
the Savoyard and his mice in the churchyard, was before me. I remained
behind the shadow of one of the columns of the porch, leaning against
the area rails, and irresolute whether or not so slight an acquaintance
justified me in waking the sleeper, when a policeman, suddenly emerging
from an angle in the street, terminated my deliberations with the
decision of his practical profession; for he laid hold of the young
man's arm and shook it roughly: "You must not lie here; get up and go
home!" The sleeper woke with a quick start, rubbed his eyes, looked
round, and fixed them upon the policeman so haughtily that that
discriminating functionary probably thought that it was not from sheer
necessity that so improper a couch had been selected, and with an air
of greater respect he said, "You have been drinking, young man,--can you
find your way home?"

"Yes," said the youth, resettling himself, "you see I have found it!"

"By the Lord Harry!" muttered the policeman, "if he ben't going to sleep
again. Come, come, walk on; or I must walk you off."

My old acquaintance turned round. "Policeman," said he, with a strange
sort of smile, "what do you think this lodging is worth,--I don't say
for the night, for you see that is over, but for the next two hours? The
lodging is primitive, but it suits me; I should think a shilling would
be a fair price for it, eh?"

"You love your joke, sir," said the policeman, with a brow much relaxed,
and opening his hand mechanically.

"Say a shilling, then; it is a bargain! I hire it of you upon credit.
Good ni