o take to set
down this here young lady; and the best thing we can all do is to get
home as fast as we can, and have a refreshing cup of tea--that's my
mind, sir. Excuse me!"

Thus abruptly dismissed, poor Percival gazed wistfully on his Helen as
she was borne along, and was somewhat comforted at seeing her look
back with (as he thought) a touch of regret in her parting smile. Then
suddenly it flashed across him how sadly he had wasted his time. Novice
that he was, he had not even learned the name and address of his new
acquaintance. At that thought he hurried on through the crowd, but only
reached the object of his pursuit just in time to see her placed in a
coach, and to catch a full view of the luxuriant proportions of Mrs.
Mivers as she followed her into the vehicle.

As the lumbering conveyance (the only coach on the stand) heaved itself
into motion, Percival's eye fell on the sweeper, who was still
leaning on his broom, and who, in grateful recognition of the unwonted
generosity that had repaid his service, touched his ragged hat, and
smiled drowsily on his young customer. Love sharpens the wit and
animates the timid; a thought worthy of the most experienced inspired
Percival St. John; he hurried to the sweeper, laid his hand on his
patchwork coat, and said breathlessly,--

"You see that coach turning into the square? Follow it,--find out where
it sets down. There's a sovereign for you; another if you succeed. Call
and tell me your success. Number ---- Curzon Street! Off, like a shot!"

The sweeper nodded and grinned; it was possibly not his first commission
of a similar kind. He darted down the street; and Percival, following
him with equal speed, had the satisfaction to see him, as the coach
traversed St. James's Square, comfortably seated on the footboard.

Beck, dull clod, knew nothing, cared nothing, felt nothing as to the
motives or purpose of his employer. Honest love or selfish vice, it was
the same to him. He saw only the one sovereign which, with astounded
eyes, he still gazed at on his palm, and the vision of the sovereign
that was yet to come.

"Scandit aeratas vitiosa naves Cura; nee turmas equitum relinquit."

It was the Selfishness of London, calm and stolid, whether on the track
of innocence or at the command of guile.

At half-past ten o'clock Percival St. John was seated in his room, and
the sweeper stood at the threshold. Wealth and penury seemed brought
into visible contact in the pers