e of the railway-station came back again.

He sat long over dinner, drinking, dreaming; he sat long after, smoking,
dreaming, and when at length he drove away, wine and dreams fumed in his
brain. The dance of lamps, the cream-cheese moon, the rays of clean wet
light on his horse's harness, the jingling of the cab bell, the whirring
wheels, the night air and the branches--it was all so good! He threw
back the hansom doors to feel the touch of the warm breeze. The crowds
on the pavement gave him strange delight; they were like shadows, in
some great illusion, happy shadows, thronging, wheeling round the single
figure of his world.

CHAPTER XII

ROTTEN ROW

With a headache and a sense of restlessness, hopeful and unhappy,
Shelton mounted his hack next morning for a gallop in the Park.

In the sky was mingled all the languor and the violence of the spring.
The trees and flowers wore an awakened look in the gleams of light that
came stealing down from behind the purple of the clouds. The air was
rain-washed, and the passers by seemed to wear an air of tranquil
carelessness, as if anxiety were paralysed by their responsibility of
the firmament.

Thronged by riders, the Row was all astir.

Near to Hyde Park Corner a figure by the rails caught Shelton's eye.
Straight and thin, one shoulder humped a little, as if its owner were
reflecting, clothed in a frock-coat and a brown felt hat pinched up in
lawless fashion, this figure was so detached from its surroundings
that it would have been noticeable anywhere. It belonged to Ferrand,
obviously waiting till it was time to breakfast with his patron. Shelton
found pleasure in thus observing him unseen, and sat quietly on his
horse, hidden behind a tree.

It was just at that spot where riders, unable to get further, are for
ever wheeling their horses for another turn; and there Ferrand, the bird
of passage, with his head a little to one side, watched them cantering,
trotting, wheeling up and down.

Three men walking along the rails were snatching off their hats before a
horsewoman at exactly the same angle and with precisely the same air,
as though in the modish performance of this ancient rite they were
satisfying some instinct very dear to them.

Shelton noted the curl of Ferrand's lip as he watched this sight. "Many
thanks, gentlemen," it seemed to say; "in that charming little action
you have shown me all your souls."

What a singular gift the fellow had of dive