the river. But what an extraordinary place for you to come to for
rooms!"

They had driven down through the glare of the great city to this silent
and dark little thoroughfare, dismissed the carriage at the foot,
climbed up an old-fashioned oak staircase, and found themselves at last
received by an elderly person, who looked a good deal more like a
bronzed old veteran than an ordinary English butler.

"Halloo, Waters!" said Lord Evelyn. "How are you? I don't think I have
seen you since you threatened to murder the landlord at Cairo."

"No, my lord," said Mr. Waters, who seemed vastly pleased by this
reminiscence, and who instantly disappeared to summon dinner for the two
young men.

"Extraordinary?" said Brand, when they had got seated at table. "Oh no;
my constant craving is for air, space, light and quiet. Here I have all
these. Beneath are the Embankment gardens; beyond that, you see, the
river--those lights are the steamers at anchor. As for quiet, the lower
floors are occupied by a charitable society; so I fancied there would
not be much traffic on the stairs."

The jibe passed unheeded; Lord Evelyn had long ago become familiar with
his friend's way of speaking about men and things.

"And so, Evelyn, you have become a pupil of the revolutionaries," George
Brand continued, when Waters had put some things before them and
retired--"a student of the fine art of stabbing people unawares? What an
astute fellow that Lind must be--I will swear it never occurred to one