t wunst? Would two o'clock do?'

'Yes, it would.'

'And might you want these other things takin' anywheres?'

'Yes, but not till to-morrow. They have to go to Islington. What would
you do it for?'

This bargain also was completed, and the dealer went his way. Thereupon
Reardon set to work to dispose of his books; by half-past one he had
sold them for a couple of guineas. At two came the cart that was to take
away the furniture, and at four o'clock nothing remained in the flat
save what had to be removed on the morrow.

The next thing to be done was to go to Islington, forfeit a week's rent
for the two rooms he had taken, and find a single room at the lowest
possible cost. On the way, he entered an eating-house and satisfied his
hunger, for he had had nothing since breakfast. It took him a couple of
hours to discover the ideal garret; it was found at length in a narrow
little by-way running out of Upper Street. The rent was half-a-crown a
week.

At seven o'clock he sat down in what once was called his study, and
wrote the following letter:

'Enclosed in this envelope you will find twenty pounds. I have been
reminded that your relatives will be at the expense of your support;
it seemed best to me to sell the furniture, and now I send you all
the money I can spare at present. You will receive to-morrow a box
containing several things I did not feel justified in selling. As soon
as I begin to have my payment from Carter, half of it shall be sent
to you every week. My address is: 5 Manville Street, Upper Street,
Islington.--EDWIN REARDON.'

He enclosed the money, in notes and gold, and addressed the envelope to
his wife. She must receive it this very night, and he knew not how to
ensure that save by delivering it himself. So he went to Westbourne Park
by train, and walked to Mrs Yule's house.

At this hour the family were probably at dinner; yes, the window of the
dining-room showed lights within, whilst those of the drawing-room were
in shadow. After a little hesitation he rang the servants' bell. When
the door opened, he handed his letter to the girl, and requested that it
might be given to Mrs Reardon as soon as possible. With one more hasty
glance at the window--Amy was perhaps enjoying her unwonted comfort--he
walked quickly away.

As he re-entered what had been his home, its bareness made his heart
sink. An hour or two had sufficed for this devastation; nothing remained
upon the uncarpeted floors but the n