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London on the same night with Lady Marchniont. He stopped at an inn suiting his finances. It was in a dark, narrow lane in the city; and the young traveller sat down in the public room, where he was half stifled by the smoke, and half deafened by the noise. What a feeling of desolation, and of vastness, had struck upon his heart as he passed through a few of those crowded streets of which there seemed no ending! It seemed impossible but that, amid so many faces, there must be one that he knew: but, no; all alike were strangers. He felt himself utterly alone; and, for the first time, shrank when he considered how slender were his resources. A small sum of money, a letter of introduction to Sir Jasper Meredith's bookseller, and a card of address where to find Norbourne Courtenaye when he happened to be in London,—these were his all. He pushed aside his frugal meal with utter distaste, and looked round on his companions: at once he felt all conversation with them to be hopeless. He listened to the conversation of the two men next him, who were quarrelling over, rather