Eternity set in. And in eternity one does not light matches.... The next exterior phenomenon was a blinding flash through the window of what, after all, was a cab. The door opened. 'You'd better get out o' this,' said the cabman, surveying them by the ray of one of his own lamps. 'Why?' asked Henry. 'Why?' replied the cabman sourly. 'Look here, governor, do you know where we are?' 'No,' said Henry. 'No. And I'm jiggered if I do, either. You'd better take the other blessed lamp and ask. No, not me. I don't leave my horse. I ain't agoin' to lose my horse.' So Henry got out of the cab, and took a lamp and moved forward into nothingness, and found a railing and some steps, and after climbing the steps saw a star, which proved ultimately to be a light over a swing-door. He pushed open the swing-door, and was confronted by a footman. 'Will you kindly tell me where I am? he asked the footman. 'This is Marlborough House,' said the footman. 'Oh, is it? Thanks,' said Henry. 'Well,' ejaculated the cabman when Henry had luckily regained the vehicle. 'I suppose that ain't good enough for you! Buckingham Palace is your doss, I suppose.' They could now hear distant sounds, which indicated other vessels in distress. The cabman said he would make an effort to reach Charing Cross, by leading his horse and sticking to the kerb; but not an inch further than Charing Cross would he undertake to go. The passage over Trafalgar Square was so exciting that, when at length the aged cabman touched pavement--that is to say, when his horse had planted two forefeet firmly on the steps of the Golden Cross Hotel--he announced that that precise point would be the end of the voyage. 'You go in there and sleep it off,' he advised his passengers. 'Chenies Street won't see much of you to-night. And make it five bob, governor. I've done my best.' 'You must stop the night here,' said Henry in a low voice to Geraldine, before opening the doors of the hotel. 'And I,' he added quickly, 'will go to Morley's. It's round the corner, and so I can't lose my way.' 'Yes, dear,' she acquiesced. 'I dare say that will be best.' 'Your eyes are a little black with the fog,' he told her. 'Are they?' she said, wiping them. 'Thanks for telling me.' And they entered. 'Nasty night, sir,' the hall-porter greeted them. 'Very,' said Henry. 'This lady wants a room. Have you one?' 'Certainly, sir.' At the foot of the staircase they shook hands, and kissed in imagination. 'Good-night,' he said, and she said the same. But when she had climbed three or four stairs, she gave a little start and returned to him, smiling, appealing. 'I've only got a shilling or two,' she whispered. 'Can you lend me some money to pay the bill with?'