es, there was not a neater, more scrupulously tidy,
or more punctiliously ordered house, in Clerkenwell, in London, in all
England. There were not cleaner windows, or whiter floors, or brighter
Stoves, or more highly shining articles of furniture in old mahogany;
there was not more rubbing, scrubbing, burnishing and polishing, in the
whole street put together. Nor was this excellence attained without some
cost and trouble and great expenditure of voice, as the neighbours
were frequently reminded when the good lady of the house overlooked and
assisted in its being put to rights on cleaning days--which were usually
from Monday morning till Saturday night, both days inclusive.

Leaning against the door-post of this, his dwelling, the locksmith
stood early on the morning after he had met with the wounded man, gazing
disconsolately at a great wooden emblem of a key, painted in vivid
yellow to resemble gold, which dangled from the house-front, and swung
to and fro with a mournful creaking noise, as if complaining that it had
nothing to unlock. Sometimes, he looked over his shoulder into the shop,
which was so dark and dingy with numerous tokens of his trade, and so
blackened by the smoke of a little forge, near which his 'prentice
was at work, that it would have been difficult for one unused to such
espials to have distinguished anything but various tools of uncouth make
and shape, great bunches of rusty keys, fragments of iron, half-finished
locks, and such like things, which garnished the walls and hung in
clusters from the ceiling.

After a long and patient contemplation of the golden key, and many such
backward glances, Gabriel stepped into the road, and stole a look at the
upper windows. One of them chanced to be thrown open at the moment,
and a roguish face met his; a face lighted up by the loveliest pair of
sparkling eyes that ever locksmith looked upon; the face of a pretty,
laughing, girl; dimpled and fresh, and healthful--the very impersonation
of good-humour and blooming beauty.

'Hush!' she whispered, bending forward and pointing archly to the window
underneath. 'Mother is still asleep.'

'Still, my dear,' returned the locksmith in the same tone. 'You talk as
if she had been asleep all night, instead of little more than half an
hour. But I'm very thankful. Sleep's a blessing--no doubt about it.' The
last few words he muttered to himself.

'How cruel of you to keep us up so late this morning, and never tell us