“Yes,“ said Sheldon, wonderfully flattered, “I—I believe you there, Master Gray. You are no fool yourself, because you—you see you’ve found out how ex—ex—extraordinary clever I am—you see.” “Exactly,” cried Learmont. “This is a lonely district.” “Here you are—Ah! Ah!” laughed Sheldon. “I—I know it—this is the house. Bless you, I know it by the painted windows.” Learmont walked to the middle of the roadway, and by the dim morning light, which was just beginning to shed a faint colour across the dusky sky, he gazed earnestly at the ancient building, in which he had no doubt were the objects of his hatred and dread. “Well,” said Sheldon, “ain’t—ain’t you going to ask a fellow in, just to take a drop o’ something?” Learmont heard him not, or if he did, he heeded him not, but stood intently gazing at the house, and treasuring up in his memory every little peculiarity he could by the faint light detect, in order that he might again recognise it without doubt or difficulty. “Hilloa!” cried Sheldon. “What are you staring at—d—d—did you never see your own house before?” Learmont started, and advancing to Sheldon, he laid his hand upon his shoulder, saying,— “My good friend, in that house I have not one drop of liquor, good or bad, to offer you.” “The d—d—devil you haven’t,” said the waterman. “Not a drain; but if you will walk with me till we come to some really good hostel, I will make you the partaker of the value of a couple of gold pieces melted down into humming ale, spiced canary, sack, or choice Rhenish—ay? What you will you shall have, if you will how take my arm, and let me be your guide.” “You—you are the prince of good fellows,” cried Sheldon, “d—d—damme you are—humming ale, did you say?” “Certainly, such as will be music in your ears.” “And—and spiced canary?” “Even, so; deep draughts that will shut the world from your eyes and your thoughts.” “Sack—s—sack, and Rhenish too?” “All—all. You shall steep your senses in delight; drown your soul in a delirium of pleasure. Come on—come on, good Master Sheldon—do you not see the morning is breaking?” “D—d—d—n it, let it break. I mean to say that you are my best friend. Bless you—I ain’t a-going to cry—no—no.” “Come—come, say no more—say no more.” Learmont took the arm of the waterman, who was rapidly becoming sentimental again, and, passing it through his own, he led him away from Gray’s house at a quick pace. The morning light was now each moment increasing, and Learmont did not fail to note every particular building he passed, in order that, when he came again, he should need no guide. Suddenly, as they turned the corner of a street, they came in sight of the square tower of the Bishop’s Palace, at Lambeth, and as Learmont knew that well, he felt quite assured that he could from that, as a land-mark, walk with certainty to the house of Jacob Gray.