Profound and various were the thoughts of the reformed drunkard that afternoon as he left his friend's abode and walked slowly towards the City. There was a strange feeling of sadness in his heart which he could not account for. It was not caused by the sacrifice of worldly good he had just made, for that had cost him no effort. The desire to rescue the perishing had been infused so strongly into his soul that he had become quite regardless of mere temporal advancement. Neither had he been unfaithful, as far as he could remember, in the recent conversation--at least not in words. The hopes and joys which he had truly referred to ought to have been as strong as ever within him, nevertheless his spirit was much depressed. He began to think of the position from which he had fallen, and of the great amount of good he might have done for Christ in a higher sphere of society--but this thought he repelled as a recurrence of pride. As he came to St. Martin's-le-Grand he stopped, and, forgetting the bustling crowd of people, buses, cabs, and carts by which he was surrounded, allowed his mind to wander into the past. It was on the broad steps of the Post-Office that he had been first led astray by the man who wished to compass his ruin, but who was eventually made the willing instrument in bringing about his salvation. He thought of the scowling look and clenched fist of poor Bones as he had stood there, long ago, under the grand portico. He thought of the same man on his sick-bed, with clasped hands and glittering eyes, thanking God that he had been brought to the gates of death by an accident, that his eyes and heart had been opened to see and accept Jesus, and that he had still power left to urge his friend (George Aspel) to come to Jesus, the sinner's Refuge. He thought also of the burglar's death, and of the fading away of his poor wife, who followed him to the grave within the year. He thought of the orphan Tottie, who had been adopted and educated by Miss Stivergill, and was by that time as pretty a specimen of budding womanhood as any one could desire to see, with the strong will and courage of her father, and the self-sacrificing, trusting, gentleness of her mother. But above and beyond and underlying all these thoughts, his mind kept playing incessantly round a fair form which he knew was somewhere engaged at that moment in the building at his side, manipulating a three-keyed instrument with delicate fingers which he longed to grasp.