On one of the hot mornings in that same month of July, a well-dressed young fellow in deep mourning might be seen picking his way through the narrow streets of Lambeth, rendered ankle-deep in mud by the prodigal benevolence of the water-cart. It was Charles Raynor. Having nothing to do with his time, he had come forth to find out Frank. "It _can't_ be here!" cried Charley to himself, sniffing about fastidiously. "Frank would never take a practice in a low place like this! I say--here, youngster," he cried, arresting the steps of a tattered girl, who was running out of a shop, "do you chance to know where Mark Street is?" "First turning you comes to," promptly responded the damsel, with assured confidence. Charles found the turning and the street, and went down it, looking on all sides for the house he wanted. As he did not remember, or else did not know, the name of Frank's predecessor, the words "Mr. Max Brown" on some window-panes on the opposite side of the way afforded him no guide; and he might have gone on into endless wilds but for catching sight within the house of a shapely head and some bright hair, which he knew belonged to Frank. He crossed the street at a bound, and entered. "Frank!" Standing in the identical spot in which Max Brown was standing when we first saw him, was Frank, his head bent forward over an account-book, in which he was writing. He looked up hastily. "Charley!" Their hands met, and some mutual inquiries ensued. They had not seen each other since quitting Eagles' Nest. "We thought you must be dead and buried, Frank. You might have come to see us." "Just what I have been thinking--that you might have come to see me," returned Frank. "_I_ can't get away. Since Brown left, and for a week before it, I have not had a moment to myself: morning, noon and night, I am tied to my post here. Your time is your own, Charley." "I have been about at the West-end, finding out Colonel Cockburn, and doing one thing or another," said Charley, by way of excusing his laziness. "Edina left us only yesterday." "For Trennach?" "Yes, for Trennach. We fancy she means to take up her abode for good in the old place. She does not feel at home anywhere else, she says, as she does there. It was good of her, though, was it not, Frank, to set us up in the new home?" "Very good--even for Edina. And I believe few people in this world are so practically good as she is. I did a little towards helping her choose the furniture; not much, because I arranged with Brown. How is the school progressing?" "All right. It is a dreadful come-down: but it has to be put up with. Alice cries every night." "And about yourself? Have you formed any plans?" "I am waiting till Cockburn returns to town. I expect he will get me a commission." "A commission!" exclaimed Frank, dubiously; certain doubts and difficulties crossing his mind, as they had crossed Edina's. "It will be the best thing for me if I can only obtain it. There is no other opening."