"Why, it's Mr. Masterman!" he cried in astonishment. "Come in, sir!" "So you remember me, Perkins?" "Of course, sir. And there's no one sorrier than me for what has happened." "Who's got my offices now?" "They're still to let, sir. P'raps you'd like to see them." "Yes, I should." They went up into the rooms. Masterman's name was still upon the glass door of the outer office. The desk that he had used was in its place beneath the window. But there was dust upon the furniture, dust upon the windows, and a kind of ghostly loneliness in the deserted rooms. "I've a fancy for sitting at that desk again, Arthur." He sat quite silent, his hat tilted back, his fingers drumming on the elbows of the chair. "Let us go, father. It's too lonely." "Yes--lonely," he said in a low voice. "The place that knew you knows you no more for ever. It's a queer sensation. No more--for ever!" They left the room, went downstairs; and Arthur noticed with astonishment that Masterman gave the obsequious Perkins a sovereign. "Oh! you needn't look like that," said Masterman. "I can afford it. And if I couldn't afford it I should do it. Perkins still has his illusions concerning me, and it isn't worth while destroying them. He very likely thinks I'm going to rent the offices again. Well, let him think it." They left the city and turned northward. The evening had fallen when they reached Highbourne Gardens. The church shone with lighted windows, and on the misty air there floated out the sound of hymn-music. Eagle House reared a dim bulk through the mist. A white-painted board, just beside the gate, informed the public that the house was to be sold. "Come away," said Arthur. "I can't bear it!" For at last he saw that in this aimless wandering there had been an aim; his father was revisiting old scenes to take farewell of them. "Hush!" said Masterman. "Listen!" As they listened, the hymn-music became recognisable. Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away; Change and decay in all around I see... The hymn ceased. "Give me your arm, Arthur; I feel a little faint. That's right. Now let us go back." The rain had begun to fall, and the wind was rising. It was nine o'clock when they reached Tottenham, and both were wet through. The next day he went to his work as usual. The weather was miserable. A raw north-east wind blew, bringing with it snow. The snow became sleet, and the wind changed to the south-east, bearing on its wings continuous rain. After the rain came black, impenetrable fog. Tottenham was submerged beneath the clammy vapour. On the Thursday, when Arthur returned from Bundy's, he found his father huddled over the fire, coughing violently. "Are you ill, father?" he asked in alarm. "Oh! just a cold. Nothing to be troubled over."