he winter, would be enough to kill any man, and
that, if attempted, it would certainly kill him; and he consented at
last to sleep the night in town,--being specially moved thereto by
discovering that he could, in conformity with this scheme, get in
and out of the train at a station considerably nearer to him than
Silverbridge, and that he could get a return-ticket at a third-class
fare. The whole journey, he found, could be done for a pound,
allowing him seven shillings for his night's expenses in London;
and out of the resources of the family there were produced two
sovereigns, so that in the event of accident he would not utterly be
a castaway from want of funds.

So he started on his journey after an early dinner, almost hopeful
through the new excitement of a journey to London, and his wife
walked with him nearly as far as the station. "Do not reject my
cousin's kindness," were the last words she spoke.

"For his professional kindness, if he will extend it to me, I will
be most thankful," he replied. She did not dare to say more; nor had
she dared to write privately to her cousin, asking for any special
help, lest by doing so she should seem to impugn the sufficiency and
stability of her husband's judgment. He got up to town late at night,
and having made inquiry of one of the porters, he hired a bed for
himself in the neighbourhood of the railway station. Here he had
a cup of tea and a morsel of bread-and-butter, and in the morning
he breakfasted again on the same fare. "No, I have no luggage,"
he had said to the girl at the public-house, who had asked him as
to his travelling gear. "If luggage be needed as a certificate of
respectability, I will pass on elsewhere," said he. The girl stared,
and assured him that she did not doubt his respectability. "I
am a clergyman of the Church of England," he had said, "but my
circumstances prevent me from seeking a more expensive lodging."
They did their best to make him comfortable, and, I think, almost
disappointed him in not heaping further misfortunes on his head.

He was in Raymond's Buildings at half-past nine, and for half an
hour walked up and down the umbrageous pavement,--it used to be
umbrageous, but perhaps the trees have gone now,--before the doors
of the various chambers. He could hear the clock strike from Gray's
Inn; and the moment that it had struck he was turning in, but was
encountered in the passage by Mr. Toogood, who was equally punctual
with himself