I had been wiser had I gone by the other road through the village and taken the first coach I found; there are commonly one or two at Kensington waiting to carry passengers to London. But in the fluster of my spirits, I did not measure the distance I had to go, or the time I should consume in walking. My main anxiety for the moment was to be alone; alone, and at leisure to probe my fortune and success, and appreciate both the relief and the good luck I had compassed. I could have sung as I walked; I could have skipped and danced; and a gleam of sunshine breaking the March sky, and gilding the leafless arms of the trees and the flat green pastures that border the road north of Hyde Park, I was moved to raise my hat and look upwards and reverently thank Providence for this wonderful instance of its goodness, which I had not had the heart to do for some time. When I descended a little to earth--a step which was hastened by a flash of recollection that showed me Ferguson's niece waiting at Clerkenwell Gate, a little figure, forlorn and desolate, yet with eyes of wrath and a face puckered with determination--when I came I say a little to myself and to think of Hogsden Gardens, and remembered that it lay on the farther side of town by Bunhill Fields, I was already at Tyburn turning; and it seemed to be no longer worth while to ride. The day was on the wane, and the road thence to St. Giles's Pound was lively with persons come out to take the air, through whom I threaded my way at a good pace, and coming to Holborn without mishap, turned up Cow Lane, and so got speedily to Smithfield, and across the market to Long Lane, knowing my way so far without having need to ask. Here, however, I took sudden fright. My mind, which as I walked had been busy with the girl and the steps I should take to find her--if indeed I wished to find her, about which I was puzzled, the surrounding circumstances being so different--was invaded by the notion that I had been long on the road. To this was added next moment the reflection that messengers sent to arrest the Duke could by taking a coach forestall me. The thought threw me into a hot fit, which increased on me when I considered that I did not know the remainder of the road, and might waste much time in tracing it. Naturally my first impulse in this strait was to seek a guide; but Long Lane by Smithfield is only one degree better than Whetstone Park, and I shrank from applying to the sots and drabs who stood at the doors and corners, or lounged out of the patched windows, and, lazily or rudely, watched me go by.