"There," she said, "that's where she's living. London's a big place,
and you mayn't be anywhere near, but if you happened to walk that
way, we should take it kindly if you'd just leave word that we're
always glad to hear from her, and hope she's well."

With a mixture of reluctance and satisfaction the young man took the
paper, glanced at it, and folded it to put in his pocket. Mrs.
Brewer was regarding him, and he felt that his silence must seem
ungracious.

"I will certainly call and leave your message," he said.

Up in his bed-room lie sat for a long time with the paper lying open
before him. And when he slept his rest was troubled with dreams of
an anxious search about the highways and byways of London for that
half-sad, half-smiling face which had so wrought upon his
imagination.

Long before daylight he awoke at the sound of bells, and hootings,
and whistlings, which summoned the Dudley workfolk to their labour.
For the first time in his life he heard these hideous noises with
pleasure: they told him that the day of his escape had come. Unable
to lie still, he rose at once, and went out into the chill dawn.
Thoughts of Eve Madeley no longer possessed him; a glorious sense of
freedom excluded every recollection of his past life, and he
wandered aimlessly with a song in his heart.

At breakfast, the sight of Mrs. Brewer's album tempted him to look
once more at the portrait, but he did not yield.