orrow, at your hotel. Good night."

Some curious prevision of evil seemed to trouble the mind of the
good New Englander. He held Amelius fast by the hand: he said, very
earnestly, "It goes against the grit with me to see you wandering off by
yourself at this time of night--it does, I tell you! Do me a favour for
once, my bright boy--go right away to bed."

Amelius laughed, and released his hand. "I shouldn't sleep, if I did go
to bed. Breakfast to-morrow, at ten o'clock. Goodnight, again!"

He started on his walk, at a pace which set pursuit on the part of Rufus
at defiance. The American stood watching him, until he was lost to sight
in the darkness. "What a grip that young fellow has got on me, in no
more than a few months!" Rufus thought, as he slowly turned away in
the direction of his hotel. "Lord send the poor boy may keep clear of
mischief this night!"

Meanwhile, Amelius walked on swiftly, straight before him, careless in
what direction he turned his steps, so long as he felt the cool air and
kept moving.

His thoughts were not at first occupied with the doubtful question of
his marriage; the lecture was still the uppermost subject in his mind.
He had reserved for the conclusion of his address the justification of
his view of the future, afforded by the widespread and frightful poverty
among the millions of the population of London alone. On this melancholy
theme he had spoken with the eloquence of true feeling, and had produced
a strong impression, even on those members of the audience who were most
resolutely opposed to the opinions which he advocated. Without any undue
exercise of self-esteem, he could look back on the close of his lecture
with the conviction that he had really done justice to himself and to
his cause. The retrospect of the public discussion that had followed
failed to give him the same pleasure. His warm temper, his vehemently
sincere belief in the truth of his own convictions, placed him at a
serious disadvantage towards the more self-restrained speakers (all
older than himself) who rose, one after another, to combat his views.
More than once he had lost his temper, and had been obliged to make
his apologies. More than once he had been indebted to the ready help
of Rufus, who had taken part in the battle of words, with the generous
purpose of covering his retreat. "No!" he thought to himself, with
bitter humility, "I'm not fit for public discussions. If they put me
into Parliament tomor