Then he stepped into the cab, and the apron was banged to, Sam hopped on to his perch, and away they rattled along the Strand into Fleet Street, and up Chancery Lane. "He's a-going it to-day, sir, aint he?" said a voice; and Richard turned sharply round, to see Sam Jenkles's happy-looking face grinning through the trap. "He's as fresh as a daisy." The little trapdoor was rattled down again, for other vehicles were coming, and Sam's hands were needed at the reins, the more especially that Ratty began to display the strangeness of his disposition by laying down his ears, whisking his tail, and trying hard to turn the cab round and round, clay-mill fashion. But this was got over, the rest of the journey performed in peace, and Sam drew up shortly at the door of his little home, the two front windows of which had been turned into gardens, as far as the sills were concerned, with miniature green palings, gate and all, the whole sheltering a fine flourishing display of geraniums and fuchsias, reflected in window-panes as clean as hands could make them. "Why, this would do capitally," said Richard, taken by the aspect of the place. "Dessay it would, sir," said Sam, grinning; "but our rooms is let. But come in, sir, and see the missus--she'll pick you out somewheres nice and clean. But, hallo! what's up?" Richard had seen that which brought the exclamation from Sam's lips, and stepped forward to help. For, about a dozen yards down the quiet little street, Mrs Lane was supporting Netta, the pair returning evidently from a walk, and the latter being overcome. "Thank you--a little faint--went too far," said Mrs Lane, as Richard ran up to where she was sustaining her daughter. "Netta, darling, only a few yards farther. Try, dear." "She has fainted," said Richard. "Here, let me carry her." Before Mrs Lane could speak, Richard had taken the light figure in his arms, and, guided by the frightened mother, bore it to Sam's door. "That's right, sir, in there," said Sam, eagerly--"fust door on the left's the parly. Poor gal!" This last was in an undertone, as the young man easily bore his burden in--finding, though, that a pair of large dark eyes had unclosed, and were gazing timidly in his, while a deep blush overspread cheek and forehead. "There," said Richard, laying her lightly down upon the couch, and helping to arrange the pillows with all a woman's tenderness. "You look weak and ill, my dear, and--and--I beg pardon," he said, hesitating, as he met Mrs Lane's gaze, "I think we have met before." Mrs Lane turned white, and shrank away. "Of course," said Richard, smiling. "My friend here, who drove me up, told me you lodged with him." Mrs Lane did not speak, only bowed her head over Netta. "If I can do anything, pray ask me," said Richard, backing to the door, and nearly overturning bustling Mrs Jenkles, who came hurrying in with-- "Oh, my dear, you've been overdoing it--I beg your pardon, sir." "My fault, I think," said Richard.