ed and listened, then placed a copper in the wretch's extended palm,
and turned away muttering, "What a cursed world!"

He was again on the tram-car before he observed that the full moon,
risen into a sky now clear of grosser vapours, gleamed brilliant silver
above the mean lights of earth. And round about it, in so vast a
circumference that it was only detected by the wandering eye, spread a
softly radiant halo. This vision did not long occupy his thoughts, but
at intervals he again looked upward, to dream for a moment on the
silvery splendour and on that wide halo dim-glimmering athwart the
track of stars.

CHAPTER III

Instead of making for the railway station, to take a train back to
Dudley, he crossed from the northern to the southern extremity of the
town, and by ten o'clock was in one of the streets which lead out of
Moseley Road. Here, at a house such as lodges young men in business, he
made inquiry for "Mr. Narramore," and was forthwith admitted.

Robert Narramore, a long-stemmed pipe at his lips, sat by the fireside;
on the table lay the materials of a satisfactory supper--a cold fowl, a
ham, a Stilton cheese, and a bottle of wine.

"Hollo! You?" he exclaimed, without rising. "I was going to write to
you; thanks for saving me the trouble. Have something to eat?"

"Yes, and to drink likewise."

"Do you mind ringing the bell? I believe there's a bottle of Burgundy
left. If not, plenty of Bass."

He stretched forth a languid hand, smiling amiably. Narramore was the
image of luxurious indolence; he had pleasant features, dark hair
inclined to curliness, a well-built frame set off by good tailoring.
His income from the commercial house in which he held a post of
responsibility would have permitted him to occupy better quarters than
these; but here he had lived for ten years, and he preferred a few
inconveniences to the trouble of moving. Trouble of any kind was
Robert's bugbear. His progress up the commercial ladder seemed due
rather to the luck which favours amiable and good-looking young fellows
than to any special ability or effort of his own. The very sound of his
voice had a drowsiness which soothed--if it did not irritate--the
listener.

"Tell them to lay out the truckle-bed," said Hilliard, when he had
pulled the bell. "I shall stay here to-night."

"Good!"

Their talk was merely interjectional, until the visitor had begun to
appease his hunger and had drawn the cork of a second bottle