It was still early, when fresh from his long walk, and with his faculties all cleared up and awakened by the withdrawal of the presence which had absorbed him, he went to Hillyard’s rooms to breakfast, as his friend had invited him to do. It was in one of those dingy parlours in Jermyn Street, which to so many young men are radiant with that freedom from domestic restraints, and privilege of having things their own way, which makes the long, unlovely street into a succession of palaces. Hillyard was sitting in his dressing-gown, over the same papers which he had carried to the club the night before. He was not less eager, not less excited than Ben,--or, indeed, it would be safe to say he was more excited. It was the end only Ben was looking at; but the means, with which he was so much better acquainted than his assistant was,--the work itself, with its difficulties and obstacles,--had inflamed the mind of the adventurer. Of course there would be a great many difficulties,--there would be schemes to lead the line, one way or another, through this man’s grounds or that man’s, by this village or away from that; and Hillyard felt, with a little thrill of delight, that he was the man who could solve all these difficulties. It was not a work of the first importance, and yet he had never had such an opening before. He was to be chief engineer, and have everything in his hands. It was to an American, who had travelled home part of the way with him from Australia, that he owed this preferment; and the new chance was as precious to Hillyard as to Ben, though not perhaps of so much supposed importance in his life. ‘I will run down and see my mother before I go,’ he said; ‘and I suppose, so will you: but we must meet at Liverpool on the 1st, and go out in the _Africa_. If I do not keep the ball in my hands now I have got the thread, never trust me! Ben, you will think it strange when I say it, but it is this I have been trying for all my life.’ ‘I don’t think it the least strange,’ said Ben; ‘though, if I were to say it was the same thing with myself----’ ‘Oh, you!’ said Hillyard, ‘you have not been so many weeks on the world as I have been years; and, besides, you don’t know what awaits you at the end of your probation. The money must come to some one,--and, even if it were divided among the three of you, your share would be more than enough to make a man happy;--whereas, for me this is the only chance in life.’ ‘I wonder what made you think of me,’ said Ben, simply. ‘It was very good of you. I was at the end of my resources and my hopes when I came out last night.’ Hillyard looked at him keenly, and in spite of himself a little colour rose to Ben’s face. ‘It was kind of you to think of me,’ he added hastily. ‘I do not know,--had it been me----’