to-morrow...

Sherston had been standing a long time at that casement of his
which commanded the huge gray mass of Somerset House, when at last
he turned round, and went quickly across the room to the other,
western, window.

Even in the gathering darkness what a faery view was there! Glad
as he was to know that after to-night he would never again see this
living room in its present familiar guise--for he had arranged with
a furniture dealer to come and take everything left in it away,
within an hour of his departure--he told himself that never again
could he hope to live with such a view as that on which he was
gazing out now.

The yellowing branches of the trees which have their roots deep in
the graveyard of the old Savoy Chapel formed, even in mid-October,
a delicious screen of living, moving leaves. Far below, to his
left, ran the river Thames, its rushing waters full of a mysterious,
darksome beauty, and illumined, here and there, with the quivering
reflection of shadowed white, green and red lights. Sherston in
his heart often blessed the Sepelin scare which had banished the
monstrous, flaring signs which, till a few months ago, had so offended
his eyes each time that he looked out into the night, towards the
water.

The lease of a fine old house in Cheyenne Walk had been chosen by
Mr. Pomeroy as his daughter's wedding gift, and already certain of
Sherston's personal possessions had been moved there. But he was
taking with him as little as possible, and practically nothing from