e the neighbourhood. Occasionally, wandering listlessly about
the streets, some object, some vista, would strike me by reason of its
familiarity. Then I would turn and hasten back into my grave of dim,
weltering streets.

Of thoughts, emotions, during these dead days I was unconscious.
Somewhere in my brain they may have been stirring, contending; but
myself I lived as in a long, dull dream. I ate, and drank, and woke,
and slept, and walked and walked, and lounged by corners; staring by the
hour together, seeing nothing.

It has surprised me since to find the scenes I must then have witnessed
photographed so clearly on my mind. Tragedies, dramas, farces, played
before me in that teeming underworld--the scenes present themselves to
me distinct, complete; yet I have no recollection of ever having seen
them.

I fell ill. It must have been some time in April, but I kept no count of
days. Nobody came near me, nobody knew of me. I occupied a room at
the top of a huge block of workmen's dwellings. A woman who kept a
second-hand store had lent me for a shilling a week a few articles of
furniture. Lying upon my chair-bedstead, I listened to the shrill sounds
around me, that through the light and darkness never ceased. A pint of
milk, left each morning on the stone landing, kept me alive. I would
wait for the man's descending footsteps, then crawl to the door. I hoped
I was going to die, regretting my returning strength, the desire for
food that drove me out into the streets again.

One night, a week or two after my partial recovery, I had wandered on
and on for hour after hour. The breaking dawn recalled me to myself. I
was outside the palings of a park. In the faint shadowy light it looked
strange and unfamiliar. I was too tired to walk further. I scrambled
over the low wooden fencing, and reaching a seat, dropped down and fell
asleep.

I was sitting in a sunny avenue; birds were singing joyously, bright
flowers were all around me. Norah was beside me, her frank, sweet eyes
were looking into mine; they were full of tenderness, mingled with
wonder. It was a delightful dream: I felt myself smiling.

Suddenly I started to my feet. Norah's strong hand drew me down again.

I was in the broad walk, Regent's Park, where, I remembered, Norah often
walked before breakfast. A park-keeper, the only other human creature
within sight, was eyeing me suspiciously. I saw myself--without a
looking-glass--unkempt, ragged. My intention wa