But still the days went very slowly, there seemed to be no end to
them. He had no relations to go and see, and in his present anxious
excited state he preferred to avoid his friends and club
acquaintances. Fifth, sixth, seventh; never did a schoolboy await the
coming of the day that marked the advent of his holidays with such
intense anxiety.

At length the eighth of June arrived. Months before, he had settled
what his programme should be on that day. His promise, as the reader
may remember, forbade him to see Angela till the ninth, that is, at
any hour after twelve on the night of the eighth, or, practically, as
early as possible on the following morning. Now the earliest train
would not get him down to Roxham till eleven o'clock, which would
involve a wicked waste of four or five hours of daylight that might be
spent with Angela, so he wisely resolved to start on the evening of
the eighth, by a train leaving Paddington at six o'clock, and reaching
Roxham at nine.

The day he spent in signing the settlements, finally interviewing the
florist, and giving him directions as to forwarding the wedding-
bouquet, which was to be composed of orange-blossoms, lilies of the
valley, and stephanois, and in getting the marriage-license. But,
notwithstanding these manifold employments, he managed to be three-
quarters of an hour before his train, the longest forty-five minutes
he ever spent.

He had written to the proprietor of the inn at Rewtham, where he had
slept a year ago the night after he had left Isleworth, to send a gig
to meet him at the station, and, on arriving at Roxham, a porter told
him that a trap was waiting for him. On emerging from the station,
even in the darkness, he was able to recognize the outlines of the
identical vehicle which had conveyed him to the Abbey House some
thirteen months ago, whilst the sound of an ancient, quavering voice
informed him that the Jehu was likewise the same. His luggage was soon
bundled up behind, and the steady-going old nag departed into the
darkness.

"Well, Sam, do you remember me?"

"Well, no, sir, I can't rightly say how I do: wait a bit; bean't you
the gemman as travels in the dry line, and as I seed a-kissing the
chambermaid?"

"No, I don't travel at present, and I have not kissed a chambermaid
for some time. Do you remember driving a gentleman over to the Abbey
House a year or so ago?"

"Why, yes, in course I does. Lord, now, and be you he? and we seed old
Devi