He paused a moment to gaze at Hamlin's book store, that had been the paradise of his boyhood; and he recalled that noteworthy day in August, when, while standing before Hamlin's window, staring at the books, he had first been accosted by Mr. Middleton, afterwards assaulted by Alfred Burghe, and finally defended by Claudia Merlin. Claudia was noble then--but, ah, how ignoble now! He passed on, unrecognized by anyone, first because the years between the ages of seventeen, when he was last there, and twenty- one, when he was now there, really had wrought serious changes in his personal appearance, and secondly because no one was just then expecting to see Ishmael Worth at all, and least of all in the person of the tall, distinguished-looking, and well-mounted stranger, who came riding through their town and taking the road to Brudenell. Every foot of that road was rich in memories to Ishmael. Over it he had ridden, in Mr. Middleton's carriage, on that fateful day of his first meeting with Claudia. Over it he had traveled, weary and footsore, through the snow, to sell his precious book to buy tea for Hannah. And over it he had again flashed in Mr. Middleton's sleigh, happy in the possession of his recovered treasure. Twilight was deepening into dark when he reached that point in the road where the little footpath diverged from it and led up to the Hill Hut. No! he could not pass this by. The path was wide enough to admit the passage of a horse. He turned up it, and rode on until he came in sight of the hut. It was but little changed. It is astonishing how long these little lonely dilapidated houses hold on if let alone. He alighted, tied his horse to a tree, and walked up behind the house, where, under the old elm, he saw the low headstone gleaming dimly in the starlight. He knelt and bowed his head over it for a little while. Then he arose and stood with folded arms, gazing thoughtfully down upon it. Finally he murmured to himself: "Not here, but risen;" and turned and left the spot. He went to the tree where he had tied his horse, remounted, and rode on his way. Again he passed down the narrow path leading back to the broad turnpike road that wound around the brow of the hills to Brudenell Hall. Here also every yard of the road was redolent of past associations. How often, while self-apprenticed to the Professor of Odd Jobs, he had passed up and down this road, carrying a basket of tools behind his master. At length he came to the cross-roads, and to the turnstile, where he had once seen and been accosted by the beautiful Countess of Hurstmonceux. He rode past this spot, and taking the lower arm of the road entered upon the Brudenell grounds. A very short ride brought him to the semi-circular avenue leading to the house. It was now quite dark; but the front of the house was lighted up, holding forth, as it were, its hands in welcome. As he rode up and dismounted a servant took his horse.