ination, all his confidence vanished,
and he became as nervous as a weak-minded school-girl. At last the
cabman stopped and addressed his fare.

"The fog's so precious thick hereabouts, sir," he said, "that I'm blest
if I can see the houses, much less the numbers. Forty-three may be
here, or it may be down at the other end. If you like I'll get down
and look."

"You needn't do that," said Browne. "I'll find it for myself."

It may have been his nervousness that induced him to do such a
thing--on that point I cannot speak with authority--but it is quite
certain that when he did get down he handed the driver
half-a-sovereign. With the characteristic honesty of the London
cabman, the man informed him of the fact, at the same time remarking
that he could not give him change.

"Never mind the change," said Browne; adding, with fine cynicism, "Put
it into the first charity-box you come across."

The man laughed, and with a hearty "Thank ye, sir; good-night," turned
his horse and disappeared.

"Now for No. 43," said Browne.

But though he appeared to be so confident of finding it, it soon
transpired that the house was more difficult to discover than he
imagined. He wandered up one pavement and down the other in search of
it. When he did come across it, it proved to be a picturesque little
building standing back from the street, and boasted a small garden in
front. The door was placed at the side. He approached it and rang the
bell. A moment later he found himself standing face to face with the
girl he had rescued on the Gieranger Fjord seven months before. It may
possibly have been due to the fact that when she had last seen him he
had been dressed after the fashion of the average well-to-do tourist,
and that now he wore a top-hat and a great coat; it is quite certain,
however, that for the moment she did not recognise him.

"I am afraid you do not know me," said Browne, with a humility that was
by no means usual with him. But before he had finished speaking she
had uttered a little exclamation of astonishment, and, as the young man
afterwards flattered himself, of pleasure.

"Mr. Browne!" she cried. "I beg your pardon, indeed, for not
recognising you. You must think me very rude; but I had no idea of
seeing you here."

"I only learnt your address an hour ago," the young man replied. "I
could not resist the opportunity of calling on you."

"But I am so unknown in London," she answered. "How could