He had thus so much to think of, that when the quickening of speed, the suburban stations whirling by, and all the signs which announce a near arrival at the end of a journey, made it clear that London was at hand, he was half sorry, and felt that he had not had half time enough for all he had to think about. He gathered up the two primary subjects of his thoughts as he did the books and newspapers which he had not read, being concerned with more pressing matters, and jumped out of the carriage with his bag in his hand with the sense that he had not a moment to lose. It was a long train, and there were a great many passengers, porters running about after the luggage, a crowd of cabs waiting; and in the hurry John strode along, intending to mount up upon the knife-board of an omnibus which passed the end of the street in which his lodgings lay. But it was not fated that he should do this so simply as he intended. As he made his way through the crowd he met with an unexpected interruption. Some one called him two or three times in a voice which he remembered at once as somehow familiar, though he did not understand it for the moment. It was like a voice in a dream calling to him, though not by his own name? Was it not his own name? With a slight start he remembered it and what it meant. ‘Mr. May-- John May!’ cried the voice which became breathless with the hurrying of its owner towards him. John looked round, and saw close to him a figure which he had not seen for a long time; a tall man, taller than ever in consequence of his increased leanness and meagreness, with a tall hat, more shiny than ever by reason of extreme wear and shabbiness, and the glaze of poverty. John had seen very little of Montressor since the time when he had first made his acquaintance, on his arrival in town. From time to time a chance meeting in the streets had made it apparent to him that the poor actor’s hopes that his affairs would take a turn and that fortune once more would favour him, were not likely to be realised, as also that there were agencies at work which were likely to keep him down more than any spite of fortune. John, in his studious boyhood, keeping himself clear from all distraction, was not likely to be tolerant of any moral weakness of that description, and he had avoided the chance acquaintance who had come so suddenly into his life, but yet had never failed when a meeting occurred to greet him kindly, and to ask after the child whom he had saved from injury. Now and then when Montressor’s face looked more gaunt, and his clothes were more poverty-stricken and his talk more big than usual, John would send a present to the little girl, which he could see was eagerly accepted. There were times even when he would meet the poor actor two or three weeks in succession lingering about the end of the street where his lodgings were, and John had an understanding that the wolf was at the door, and that the five shillings he sent to buy little Edie a doll were