Cyril seemed to himself to have entered upon a new life when he
stepped across the threshold of David Dowsett's store. All his cares
and anxieties had dropped from him. For the past two years he had
lived the life of an automaton, starting early to his work, returning
in the middle of the day to his dinner,--to which as often as not he
sat down alone,--and spending his evenings in utter loneliness in the
bare garret, where he was generally in bed long before his father
returned. He blamed himself sometimes during the first fortnight of
his stay here for the feeling of light-heartedness that at times came
over him. He had loved his father in spite of his faults, and should,
he told himself, have felt deeply depressed at his loss; but nature
was too strong for him. The pleasant evenings with Captain Dave and
his family were to him delightful; he was like a traveller who, after
a cold and cheerless journey, comes in to the warmth of a fire, and
feels a glow of comfort as the blood circulates briskly through his
veins. Sometimes, when he had no other engagements, he went out with
Nellie Dowsett, whose lively chatter was new and very amusing to him.
Sometimes they went up into Cheapside, and into St. Paul's, but more
often sallied out of the city at Aldgate, and walked into the fields.
On these occasions he carried a stout cane that had been his
father's, for Nellie tried in vain to persuade him to gird on a
sword.

"You are a gentleman, Cyril," she would argue, "and have a right to
carry one."

"I am for the present a sober citizen, Mistress Nellie, and do not
wish to assume to be of any other condition. Those one sees with
swords are either gentlemen of the Court, or common bullies, or maybe