whilst some of the tribe will take to banging
one of these useful objects against the area
railings quite viciously, as if it was a "missus."
The street is for some time now quite in the
hands of the early domestics, who, speedily
abandoning that first mat, retire within and bring
out other specimens of the same kind, which
they fling upon the pavement, hang upon the
area spikes, and subject generally to every kind
of ignominious treatment. The maids-of-all-
work do not labour much at this time, the
missuses being in bed, but are given to looking
about them, to gazing up at the windows of their
own residences to make sure that the blinds of
their oppressors are still drawn down, and to
congregating in twos and threes at the different
house doors, discussing their wrongs and the best
ways of redressing their respective grievances.

This is the time when there is more business
done on the ground floor than we, who are
upstairs, and asleep, have any idea of; and
pleasure, as well as business, is the occupation of
that hour. The distributors of milk, undisturbed
by conscientious scruples in connexion with the
diluted nature of the article in which they deal,
are generally men of cheerful manners, and
brilliant conversational powers, and these are on
their rounds now, and ready to make themselves
agreeable. Then there is the gentleman who
represents the pig-wash interest, and to whom the
thrifty handmaid looks not only for light gossip,
but for solid remuneration. He is a splashy
individual this, his cart is small and rickety, and his
horse is diminutive, and lean, and crestfallen, but
he is popular, nevertheless, for he brings money,
and money is another word for ribbons. Lastly,
comes the policeman, and he is always welcome.

Since the policeman was last in the street,
the thoroughfare has altered considerably in
appearance. Then he and the disreputable cat had
it all to themselves. Since that time the street
has come to life. When he was here a little while
ago there was nobody to speak to; now there is an
embarras de richesse in his way. He does what he
can, however, and is not unsuccessful in pleasing.

A man, bearing the appearance of a navigator,
has come into the street armed with a pickaxe
arid a crow. This individual pitches upon a
particular paving-stone, which looks like all the
rest, but to whose disadvantage the labouring
man seems to know something, for he proceeds,
keeping his eye steadily fixed upon it, to relieve
himself of his coat and waistcoat, depositing
which on the kerb, he flies at the doomed paving
stone, and loosening it with his pick, has it out
of its place in no time. Then he becomes
suddenly inactive, and falls to feeling his arms, and
looking about him. He has taken possession,
and that is enough. Towards this personage the
policeman makes his way, slowly and with
dignity, in order to question him upon his projects
with regard to the paving stone.

The two stand talking together for some time.
They are stationed nearly opposite to the house
occupied by the Penmores, which the policeman eyes
from time to time, as it is his habit to eye
everything. He observes that the inhabitants
of the house are up and doing; but that the
house itself wears rather a disordered aspect,
some of the shutters being open, whilst others
remain closed, and others again are half shut up.
No movement is being made to arrange these
matters in a more orderly manner, nor indeed
are there any signs of movement or life about
the house at all, till suddenly the street door
opens, and Mr. Penmore, with a countenance
expressive of great agitation and distress, appears
upon the door-step, and stands there a moment,
apparently uncertain which way to turn. The
policeman knows Mr. Penmore by sight, having
often lighted him with his lantern when Gilbert has
been letting himself into the house late at night.

Penmore, seeing the policeman, comes across
to him at once, and, with every indication of
extreme haste in his voice and appearance, says:

"Where can I find a doctor?"

"Well, sir," the policeman began slowly, " it
depends upon what kind of doctor-——"

"Oh, quick, quick! Any doctor—that is, who
understands his business."

"There is Dr. Giles, sir. He's medical
attendant to the force; he's——"

"Where, where? there's not a moment to
lose!"

"Close by, in Henry-street—first house round
the corner. Is anything the matter, sir?"

But Gilbert is gone, and the last question is
addressed to the empty air.

"Seems as if there was," says the navigator,
answering the policeman's inquiry.

"I shouldn't wonder," replies this last, with
the quick perception peculiar to his class, " if
there wasn't somebody ill."

We have been outside the house long enough.
It is time that we should look within, and ascertain
what it is that has brought Mr. Penmore
out so early in search of medical help.

While Gilbert was busy in his dressing-room at
an early hour, he became suddenly aware that
something unusual was going on in the house.

There was the sound of hurried footsteps
moving hither and thither, of the banging of
doors, of the voices of persons talking eagerly,
but in suppressed tones, and then of some one
hastening along the passage outside Penmore's
door, and uttering a kind of sobbing sound,
intermingled with various ejaculations of dismay
and bewilderment. Presently these sounds
ceased for a moment, and there was a hurried
knocking at the dressing-room door.

"Yes—what is it—what's the matter?" asked
Penmore.

"Oh, sir," answered the servant, Charlotte,
breathlessly, "you're wanted—directly."

Gilbert opened the door.

' What is the matter?" he asked, seriously
alarmed.

"Oh, sir, Miss Carrington—she's—she's——"

"What?" cried Gilbert.