Land was not so valuable when Queen Charlotte's Road was built, and people who directed letters to their friends in that locality did not then place the letters "S.E." at the bottom of the address. In fact, so low in price was the land that the speculative builder of that day-- whose name, by the way, was not Jeremiah, or Jerry, for the houses are still standing--gave to each of the double-barrelled, or semi-detached cottages, a goodly piece of garden back and front; and, instead of piling up so many rooms by the side of a fire-escape sort of staircase, planted them, for the most part, side by side, and ran a good broad veranda along the front. He or his tenants planted trees as well--trees that once gave the straight broad road which ran down to the strawberry and rhubarb fields quite a countrified air. The houses are there still, but many of them have been found substantial enough to bear a couple of floors on the top of the old structure; and some of the trees are still in their old places--vigorous old fellows of artful nature, who declined to trust their roots where they would be poisoned by the company's gas mains or cut off by the picks and shovels of the navvies at work on the main drainage scheme. Consequently, they lived, though in a sad, decrepit, mutilated way; bent back, beheaded, carved and cropped--limbless dwarfs, for the most part, but always ready to put forth plenty of tender, green leaves in the spring-time, and to make a litter of the dead early in the autumn, while the country trees were still in full costume. The road--which ran at right angles out of what was once a highly respectable retired-tradesman thoroughfare, with gardens rich in lilac and laburnum, now all busy shops--no longer lost itself in rhubarb gardens, but was carried on through miles of crowded streets; and it was through these, by an ingenious short cut and long fare process, that a hansom cab was being driven, till Queen Charlotte's Road was reached, and a signal given for the man to stop by a semaphore use of Brettison's gouty umbrella. Stratton gazed wonderingly at the neat, green-verandahed cottage, half-hidden by the cropped trees and a well kept privet hedge, and noted as they entered the gate that there was a cane armchair just outside the French window, sheltered by the broad veranda, and that there were many wheel-marks on the gravel, suggestive of perambulators and children; but, in its well painted, clean windows, carefully tended garden, and general aspect of comfort, the place was anything but that where Stratton had expected to find an escaped convict confined. Hardly a word had been said during the drive out, but Stratton had quite made up his mind what to do. He felt that he would be running counter to his friend's wishes, and might seem unmerciful, but at the cost of any suffering to Myra he felt that it was the best thing, and would result in saving her future cares.