The next night his mood changed, and unable to endure the confinement of the ship, he went for a lonely tramp round the streets. He hung round the Wheelers, and, after gazing at their young barbarians at play, walked round and looked at Flower’s late lodgings. It was a dingy house, with broken railings and an assortment of papers and bottles in the front garden, and by no means calculated to relieve depression. From there he instinctively wandered round to the lodgings recently inhabited by Miss Tyrell. He passed the house twice, and noted with gloom the already neglected appearance of her front window. The Venetian blind, half drawn up, was five or six inches higher one side than the other, and a vase of faded flowers added to the forlornness of the picture. In his present state of mind the faded blooms seemed particularly appropriate, and suddenly determining to possess them, he walked up the steps and knocked at the door, trembling like a young housebreaker over his first job. “I think I left my pipe here the other night,” he stammered to the small girl who opened it. “I’ll swear you didn’t,” said the small damsel, readily. “Can I go up and see?” enquired Fraser, handing her some coppers. The small girl relented, and even offered to assist him in his search, but he waved her away, and going upstairs sat down and looked drearily round the shabby little room. An execrable ornament of green and pink paper in the fireplace had fallen down, together with a little soot; there was dust on the table, and other signs of neglect. He crossed over to the window and secured two or three of the blooms, and was drying the stalks on his handkerchief when his eye suddenly lighted on a little white ball on the mantel-piece, and, hardly able to believe in his good fortune, he secured a much-darned pair of cotton gloves, which had apparently been forgotten in the hurry of departure. He unrolled them, and pulling out the little shrivelled fingers, regarded them with mournful tenderness. Then he smoothed them out, and folding them with reverent fingers, placed them carefully in his breast-pocket. He then became conscious that somebody was regarding his antics with amazement from the doorway. “_Mr. Fraser!_” said a surprised voice, which tried to be severe. Mr. Fraser bounded from his chair, and stood regarding the intruder with a countenance in which every feature was outvying the other in amazement. “I thought—you—were on the _Golden Cloud_,” he stammered. Miss Tyrell shook her head and looked down. “I missed the ship,” she said, pensively. “Missed the ship?” shouted the other; “missed the ship? Did Flower miss it too?” “I’m afraid not,” said Miss Tyrell, even more pensively than before. “Good heavens, I never heard of such a thing,” said Fraser; “how ever did you manage to do it?”