‘I will, though it should only be for a day.’ ‘Then I shall have something to look forward to. Oh, Alec, how good you are!’ And an hour passed before the brother and sister parted. Next morning the good-byes were said in haste, but they were not so painful as Alec had anticipated. His father’s reserve broke down at the last; he embraced his son, and put an envelope into his hand containing fifty pounds in bank-notes. ‘Take it, lad,’ he said, as Alec would have put it back in his hand--‘take it; I can easily spare it. It’s hard to part with you; and I had hoped--but never mind that now. Fear God, Alec, and keep His commandments, for that is the whole duty of man.’ ‘Oh, father!’ cried Alec; ‘I almost wish--if I had known----’ ‘Come, my boy; it’s time you were gone. You will miss the coach.’ Another hurried embrace from Maggie, another shake of the hand from his father, and he was gone; and the father and daughter went back together to the silent and empty house. FOOTNOTES: [2] So called, because the unimportant prosecutions at some Quarter Sessions are handed round to the junior members of the bar, one to each, like so many plates of soup. CHAPTER XVI. IN LONDON. Who has not tried to put into words his first impressions of London? And who has not failed? Probably, if people were quite careful not to impose upon themselves, they would feel bound to confess that, after the first feeling of bewilderment was over, their chief impression was one of a vague disappointment. They knew that they had set foot in the Metropolis of the Empire, and they could not help forgetting that London is not to be seen in half an hour. This, at least, was Alec Lindsay’s experience. When he emerged from the railway-station and found himself in the Euston Road, he could hardly believe that he had at last reached the city of his dreams. With his overcoat over his arm and his bag in his hand (avoiding, like a thrifty Scot, the needless expense of a cab), he trudged slowly eastwards, taking mental notes as he went. He was surprised at the comparative stillness around him. He had often heard of the bustle in the streets of London; but the Euston Road was quieter than many a street in Glasgow. Then the houses offended him. They were much lower in height than those to which he had been accustomed, and much uglier. He gazed with contempt on the tumble-down buildings of wood, or of brick not much more durable than wood, projected from the houses to the pavement. He was surprised at the absence of hurry, at the street children playing about (as much wrapped up in their play as if they had been on a village-green), at the half-intelligible Cockney dialect.