The unfortunate man accepted this offer. As they went along he sighed bitterly, and once said, with great vehemence, “Curse these lotteries! Curse these lotteries!” Maurice now rejoiced, more than ever, at having conquered his propensity to gaming, and at having sold his ticket. When they came opposite to a hosier’s shop, in Oxford-street, the stranger thanked him, and desired to be set down. “This is my home,” said he; “or this was my home, I ought to say,” pointing to his shop as he let down the coach-glass. “A sad warning example I am! But I am troubling you, sir, with what no way concerns you. I thank you, sir, for your civility,” added he, turning away from Maurice, to hide the tears which stood in his eyes: “good day to you.” He then prepared to get out of the coach; but whilst the coachman was letting down the step, a gentleman came out of the hosier’s shop to the door, and cried, “Mr. Fulham, I am glad you are come at last. I have been waiting for you this half-hour, and was just going away.” Maurice pulled aside the flap of the hosier’s coat, as he was getting out, that he might peep at the gentleman who spoke; the voice was so like William Deane’s, that he was quite astonished.--“It is--it is William Deane,” cried Maurice, jumping out of the coach and shaking hands with his friend. William Deane, though now higher in the world than Robinson, was heartily glad to see him again, and to renew their old intimacy. “Mr. Fulham,” said he, turning to the hosier, “excuse me to-day; I’ll come and settle accounts with you to-morrow.” On their way to Paddington, Maurice related to his friend all that had passed since they parted; how his good luck in the lottery tempted him to try his fortune at the gaming-table; how he was cheated by sharpers, and reduced to the brink of utter ruin; how kind Ellen was towards him in this distress; how he was relieved by Mr. Belton, who was induced to assist him from regard to Ellen and little George; how Mrs. Dolly drank herself into ill health, which would soon have killed her if she had not, in a drunken fit, shortened the business by fracturing her skull; and, lastly, how she left him a lottery ticket, which he had just sold, lest it should be the cause of fresh imprudence. “You see,” added Maurice, “I do not forget all you said to me about lotteries.--Better take good advice late than never. But now, tell me your history.” “No,” replied William Deane; “that I shall keep till we are all at dinner; Ellen and you, I and my friend George, who, I hope, has not forgotten me.” He was soon convinced that George had not forgotten him, by the joy he showed at seeing him again.