he envelope containing the address, and
directed the stately footman to drive him to Box Court, opening off the
Strand. It seemed as if the place were not at all unknown to the man,
for he looked startled and begged a repetition of the order. It was
with a heart full of alarms that Silas mounted into the luxurious
vehicle, and was driven to his destination. The entrance to Box Court
was too narrow for the passage of a coach; it was a mere footway between
railings, with a post at either end. On one of these posts was seated a
man, who at once jumped down and exchanged a friendly sign with the
driver, while the footman opened the door and inquired of Silas whether
he should take down the Saratoga trunk, and to what number it should be
carried.

"If you please," said Silas. "To number three."

The footman and the man who had been sitting on the post, even with the
aid of Silas himself, had hard work to carry in the trunk; and before it
was deposited at the door of the house in question, the young American
was horrified to find a score of loiterers looking on. But he knocked
with as good a countenance as he could muster up, and presented the
other envelope to him who opened.

"He is not at home," said he, "but if you will leave your letter and
return to-morrow early, I shall be able to inform you whether and when
he can receive your visit. Would you like to leave your box?" he added.

"Dearly," cried Silas; and the next moment he repented his
precipitation, and declared, with equal emphasis, that he would rather
carry the box along with him to the hotel.

The crowd jeered at his indecision, and followed him to the carriage
with insulting remarks; and Silas, covered with shame and terror,
implored the servants to conduct him to some quiet and comfortable house
of entertainment in the immediate neighbourhood.

The Prince's equipage deposited Silas at the Craven Hotel in Craven
Street, and immediately drove away, leaving him alone with the servants
of the inn. The only vacant room, it appeared, was a little den up four
pairs of stairs, and looking towards the back. To this hermitage, with
infinite trouble and complaint, a pair of stout porters carried the
Saratoga trunk. It is needless to mention that Silas kept closely at
their heels throughout the ascent, and had his heart in his mouth at
every corner. A single false step, he reflected, and the box might go
over the banisters and land its fatal contents, plainly discov