ms at the new
hotel near the Dover Station,--the London Bridge Station,--from
whence was to start on the following morning a train to catch the
tidal boat for Boulogne. There was a dressing-bag there for which he
had paid twenty-five guineas out of his aunt's money, not having been
able to induce the tradesman to grant it to him on credit; and there
were other things,--slippers, collars, stockings, handkerchiefs, and
what else might, as he thought, under such circumstances be most
necessary. Poor thoughtful, thoughtless fool!

The butler was right. He did leave the house. He saw Lady Glencora
taken to her carriage from some back hiding-place in the hall, and
then slipped out, unmindful of his shining boots, and dress coat and
jewelled studs. He took a Gibus hat,--his own, or that of some other
unfortunate,--and slowly made his way down to the place in Bruton
Street. There was the carriage and pair of horses, all in readiness;
and the driver, when he had placed himself by the door of the
vehicle, was not long in emerging from the neighbouring public-house.
"All ready, your honour," said the man. "I shan't want you to-night,"
said Burgo, hoarsely;--"go away." "And about the things, your
honour?" "Take them to the devil. No; stop. Take them back with you,
and ask somebody to keep them till I send for them. I shall want them
and another carriage in a day or two." Then he gave the man half a
sovereign, and went away, not looking at the little treasures which
he had spent so much of his money in selecting for his love. When he
was gone, the waterman and the driver turned them over with careful
hands and gloating eyes. "It's a 'eiress, I'll go bail," said the
waterman. "Pretty dear! I suppose her parints was too many for her,"
said the driver. But neither of them imagined the enormity which the
hirer of the chaise had in truth contemplated.

Burgo from thence took his way back into Grosvenor Square, and from
thence down Park Street, and through a narrow passage and a mews
which there are in those parts, into Park Lane. He had now passed the
position of Mr Palliser's house, having come out on Park Lane at a
spot nearer to Piccadilly; but he retraced his steps, walking along
by the rails of the Park, till he found himself opposite to the
house. Then he stood there, leaning back upon the railings, and
looking up at Lady Glencora's windows. What did he expect to see?
Or was he, in truth, moved by love of that kind which can take