s Oxford Street, across Tottenham
Court Road, across numerous squares north-east of the Museum, seems to
be long. The end of Goswell Road is the outside of the world in that
direction, and Islington is beyond the end of Goswell Road. And yet
that Hansom cab was there before Paul Montague had been able to
arrange the words with which he would begin the interview. He had
given the Street and the number of the street. It was not till after
he had started that it occurred to him that it might be well that he
should get out at the end of the street, and walk to the house,--so that
he might, as it were, fetch breath before the interview was commenced.
But the cabman dashed up to the door in a manner purposely devised to
make every inmate of the house aware that a cab had just arrived
before it. There was a little garden before the house. We all know the
garden;--twenty-four feet long, by twelve broad;--and an iron-grated
door, with the landlady's name on a brass plate. Paul, when he had
paid the cabman,--giving the man half-a-crown, and asking for no change
in his agony,--pushed in the iron gate and walked very quickly up to the
door, rang rather furiously, and before the door was well opened asked
for Mrs Hurtle.

'Mrs Hurtle is out for the day,' said the girl who opened the door.
'Leastways, she went out yesterday and won't be back till to-night.'
Providence had sent him a reprieve! But he almost forgot the reprieve,
as he looked at the girl and saw that she was Ruby Ruggles. 'Oh laws,
Mr Montague, is that you?' Ruby Ruggles had often seen Paul down in
Suffolk, and recognized him as quickly as he did her. It occurred to
her at once that he had come in search of herself. She knew that Roger
Carbury was up in town looking for her. So much she had of course
learned from Sir Felix,--for at this time she had seen the baronet more
than once since her arrival. Montague, she knew, was Roger Carbury's
intimate friend, and now she felt that she was caught. In her terror
she did not at first remember that the visitor had asked for Mrs
Hurtle.

'Yes, it is I. I was sorry to hear, Miss Ruggles, that you had left
your home.'

'I'm all right, Mr Montague;--I am. Mrs Pipkin is my aunt, or,
leastways, my mother's brother's widow, though grandfather never would
speak to her. She's quite respectable, and has five children, and lets
lodgings. There's a lady here now, and has gone away with her just for
one night down to Southend. They'll b