"I have, indeed, brought you a small remembrance, Charles; but I am a small man, and you are a small boy, and I understand you are to have a very small establishment." He said this cheerily, but I could not laugh; he put his kind arm round me, and I only wept the more. Clo was all the time quite seriously, as I have said, tracing ineffaceably my initials in German text, with crimson cotton,--none of your delible inks,--and Davy pretended to be very much interested in them. "What! all those stockings, Charles?" "Yes, sir: you see we have provided for summer and winter," responded Clo, as seriously as I have mentioned. "He will not want any till we see him again, for he is to pay us a visit, if God spares him, next Christmas." Davy sighed, and kissed my forehead; I clung to him. "Shall I see you again, Mr. Davy?" "I have come to ask your mother whether I may take you to London; it is precisely what I came for, and I have a little plan." Davy had actually an engagement in London, or feigned to have one,--I have never been able to discover whether it was a fact or a fiction; and he proposed to my mother that I should sleep with him at his aunt's house one night before I was deposited at the hotel where Santonio rested, and to which he had advised I should be brought. I was in fits of delight at the idea of Davy's company; yet, after all, I did not have much of that, for he travelled to London on the top of the coach, and I was an inside passenger at my mother's request. Then comes a sleep of memory, not unaccompanied by dreams,--a dream of being hurled into a corner by a lady, and of jamming myself so that I could not stir hand or foot between her and the window; a dream of desperate efforts to extricate myself; a dream of sudden respite, cold air, and high stars beyond and above the houses, a cracked horn, a flashing lantern; a dream of dark in a hackney-coach, and of stopping in a stilly street before a many-windowed mansion, as it seemed to me. Then I am aware to this hour of a dense headache, and bones almost knotted together, till there arrives the worst nightmare reality can breed,--the smell of toast, muffins, and tea; the feeling of a knife and fork you cannot manage for sleepfulness; and the utter depression of your quicksilver.