should have dropped from the Captain's arm at first, and trembled lest
the other should discover his emotion. He gasped out a few incoherent
words, indicative of the high gratification he should have in being
presented to the lady for whose--for whose talents he had conceived such
an admiration--such an extreme admiration; and followed the Captain,
scarcely knowing whither that gentleman led him. He was going to see her!
He was going to see her! In her was the centre of the universe. She was
the kernel of the world for Pen. Yesterday, before he knew her, seemed a
period ever so long ago--a revolution was between him and that time, and
a new world about to begin.

The Captain conducted his young friend to that quiet little street in
Chatteris, which is called Prior's Lane, which lies in the ecclesiastical
quarter of the town, close by Dean's Green and the canons' houses, and is
overlooked by the enormous towers of the cathedral; there the Captain
dwelt modestly in the first floor of a low gabled house, on the door of
which was the brass plate of 'Creed, Tailor and Robe-maker.' Creed was
dead, however. His widow was a pew-opener in the cathedral hard by; his
eldest son was a little scamp of a choir-boy, who played toss-halfpenny,
led his little brothers into mischief, and had a voice as sweet as an
angel. A couple of the latter were sitting on the door-step, down which
you went into the passage of the house; and they jumped up with great
alacrity to meet their lodger, and plunged wildly, and rather to Pen's
surprise, at the swallow-tails of the Captain's dress-coat; for the truth
is, that the good-natured gentleman, when he was in cash, generally
brought home an apple or a piece of gingerbread for these children.
"Whereby the widdy never pressed me for rint when not convanient," as he
remarked afterwards to Pen, winking knowingly, and laying a finger on his
nose.