XLVI. AYALA GOES AGAIN TO STALHAM.
XLVII. CAPTAIN BATSBY AT MERLE PARK.
XLVIII. THE JOURNEY TO OSTEND.
XLIX. THE NEW FROCK.
L. GOBBLEGOOSE WOOD ON SUNDAY.
LI. "NO!"
LII. "I CALL IT FOLLY."
LIIII. HOW LUCY'S AFFAIRS ARRANGED THEMSELVES.
LIV. TOM'S LAST ATTEMPT.
LV. IN THE CASTLE THERE LIVED A KNIGHT.
LVI. GOBBLEGOOSE WOOD AGAIN.
LVII. CAPTAIN BATSBY IN LOMBARD STREET.
LVIII. MR. TRAFFICK IN LOMBARD STREET.
LIX. TREGOTHNAN.
LX. AUNT ROSINA.
LXI. TOM TRINGLE GOES UPON HIS TRAVELS.
LXII. HOW VERY MUCH HE LOVED HER.
LXIII. AYALA AGAIN IN LONDON.
LXIV. AYALA'S MARRIAGE.

AYALA'S ANGEL.

CHAPTER XLIV.

IN THE HAYMARKET.

It was now the beginning of February. As Tom and his uncle had walked
from Somerset House the streets were dry and the weather fine; but,
as Mr. Dosett had remarked, the wind was changing a little out of
the east and threatened rain. When Tom left the house it was already
falling. It was then past six, and the night was very dark. He had
walked there with a top coat and umbrella, but he had forgotten
both as he banged the door after him in his passion; and, though
he remembered them as he hurried down the steps, he would not turn
and knock at the door and ask for them. He was in that humour which
converts outward bodily sufferings almost into a relief. When a
man has been thoroughly illused in greater matters it is almost a
consolation to him to feel that he has been turned out into the
street to get wet through without his dinner,--even though he may
have turned himself out.

He walked on foot, and as he walked became damp and dirty, till he
was soon wet through. As soon as he reached Lancaster Gate he went
into the park, and under the doubtful glimmer of the lamps trudged on
through the mud and slush, not regarding his path, hardly thinking
of the present moment in the full appreciation of his real misery.
What should he do with himself? What else was there now left to
him? He had tried everything and had failed. As he endeavoured to
count himself up, as it were, and tell himself whether he were
worthy of a happier fate than had been awarded to him, he was very
humble,--humble, though so indignant! He knew himself to be a poor
creature in comparison with Jonathan Stubbs. Though he could not have
been Stubbs had he given his heart for it, though it was absolutely
beyond him to assu