rs; sleep or rest was out of the question.

"Oscar!" he called. "Oscar, my lad, let us go out!"

When he stealthily went downstairs, and opened the door and passed into
the street, behold! the new day was shining abroad--and how cold, and
still, and silent it was after the hot glare and whirl of that
bewildering night! No living thing was visible. A fresh, sweet air
stirred the leaves of the trees and bushes in St. James's Square. There
was a pale lemon-yellow glow in the sky, and the long, empty
thoroughfare of Pall Mall seemed coldly white.

Was this a somnambulist, then, who wandered idly along through the
silent streets, apparently seeing nothing of the closed doors and the
shuttered windows on either hand? A Policeman, standing at the corner of
Waterloo Place, stared at the apparition--at the twin apparition, for
this tall young gentleman with the light top-coat thrown over his
evening dress was accompanied by a beautiful collie that kept close to
his heels. There was a solitary four-wheeled cab at the foot of the
Haymarket; but the man had got inside and was doubtless asleep. The
embankment?--with the young trees stirring in the still morning air; and
the broad bosom of the river catching the gathering glow of the skys. He
leaned on the gray stone parapet, and looked out on the placid waters of
the stream.

Placid, indeed, they were as they went flowing quietly by; and the young
day promised to be bright enough; and why should there be aught but
peace and goodwill upon earth toward all men and women? Surely there was
no call for any unrest, or fear, or foreboding? The still and shining
morning was but emblematic of his life--if only he knew, and were
content. And indeed he looked contented enough, as he wandered on,
breathing the cool freshness of the air, and with a warmer light from
the east now touching from time to time his sun-tanned face. He went up
to Covent Garden--for mere curiosity's sake. He walked along
Piccadilly, and thought the elms in the Green Park looked more beautiful
than ever. When he returned to his rooms he was of opinion that it was
scarcely worth while to go to bed; and so he changed his clothes, and
called for breakfast as soon as some one was up. In a short time--after
his newspaper had been read--he would have to go down to Charing Cross.

What of this morning walk? Perhaps it was unimportant enough. Only, in
after-times, he once or twice thought of it; and very clearly indeed he
c