She drew her chair close to his, and took one of his hands within her own. She had the cunning of the serpent, for in some respects she had much of the fascinating powers which that reptile is supposed to possess; but Peace was not likely to be made a dupe of, as he knew pretty well the character of the woman who was so demonstrative. “You don’t forget your old companion. You don’t forget the time when we were boy and girl together?” “No, I don’t forget, Laura.” “Then why this coldness?” she remarked, looking into his face with her soft seductive eyes. “Look here, old girl, I hope you have not brought me into this crib to make love to me. If you have, it’s a bit of a sell, that’s all I have to say. We know one another pretty well. We ought to do so by this time. I wish you well, and am glad to find that you are in so comfortable a position. I shan’t lose sight of you――shall drop in occasionally to see how you are getting along, for, as I said before, I wish you well.” The woman comprehended his meaning, and at once altered her tactics. She withdrew her hand from his, went to a cheffonier, and placed on the table a decanter of wine and glasses. “We’ll have a glass together before you leave,” she said, in a careless manner. “I have had quite enough already――indeed, more than enough,” he returned. “Ah, that’s it――is it?” “Yes, that’s it. You see, old girl, I’ve been knocking about with a young spark for some hours, and feel that I’ve had quite enough. However, I won’t refuse to take one glass――just to show that there’s no animosity.” Two glasses were filled, and the companions drank by way of good fellowship. Peace remained for some time after this, giving the woman a short but succinct account of their old associates at Sheffield. It had arrived at the small hours of the morning when he took his departure, and returned to Sanderson’s Hotel. * * * * * * * Many days have passed over since our hero’s visit to Laura Stanbridge. Our scene shifts, and other characters appear on the stage. It was evening in London. A drizzling rain was coming steadily down; the pavement shone under the glittering gaslights as if it had been smeared with oil. The streets were slush and mud, which a band of men in tarpaulin hats and coarse blue jackets were scraping to a heap, and piling in a cart with huge wooden instruments, half spade and half rake. It has been said that London is paved with gold; few of us, however, have been fortunate enough to pick up a nugget, or even a few grains of that precious metal. Nevertheless it is quite true that, by the refuse of the streets, large sums are realised. Although the weather was so cheerless the streets were thronged with men and women, whose rapid movements and anxious looks explained that it was business, that patron saint of the great city, which had called them from their comfortable domiciles, their families, and their friends.