“I don’t know yet,” said Stafford.  He didn’t thank Howard for the offer; no thanks were necessary.  “The thing is so sudden that I have not made any plans.  I suppose there’s something I can do to earn my living.  I’ve no brains, but I’m pretty strong.  I might drive a hansom cab or an omnibus, better men than I have done worse.  Leave me alone, old man, to have a pipe and think of it.”  Howard lingered for an hour or two, for he felt that though Stafford had dismissed him, he had need of him; and when he had gone Stafford took his hat and went out.  He did not call a hansom, but walked on regardless of his route, and lost in thought.  Something of the weight that had crushed him had been lifted from his heart:  he was penniless, the future stretched darkly before him with a darkness through which there appeared no road or sign of light; but he was free.  He would not be compelled to go to the altar, there to perjure himself with an oath to love and cherish one woman while he loved another.  I am afraid he did not feel much pity for Maude, simply because he did not realise how much she cared for him.

He walked on for some time and at last found himself somewhere down by the Minories, in that mysterious East End, of which we hear so much and of which we know so little.  A little farther on he came upon the river and he stood for a moment or two watching some sheep and cattle being driven on board an ocean tramp.  The sight of them recalled Herondale and Ida; and he was turning away, with a sigh, when a burly man with a large slouch hat stuck on the back of his head came lurching out of one of the little wooden offices on the quay.  He was apparently the owner of the sheep, or in some way concerned with them, for he harangued the drovers in a flow of language which though rich in profanity, was poured forth in a pleasant and jovial voice.  He had been drinking unwisely and too well, and as he wobbled richly about the small quay he happened to lurch against Stafford, who was attempting to avoid him.  He begged Stafford’s pardon profusely and with such good-natured penitence that Stafford in addition to granting him the forgiveness he requested, asked him where the sheep and cattle were going.

“To my little place, Salisbury Plain.”  Seeing the astonishment which Stafford could not keep out of his face, the man laughed and explained.  “Not your Salisbury Plain, not the place here in England, but in the Burra-Burra country, Australia,” he pointed with his fat hand downwards.  “Right underneath.  They’re prize rams and bulls.  I like to have the best, and I paid a devil of a long price for them; but I’ve got enough left for a drink if you’ll come and have one.”

Stafford declined, but the man clung on to his arm, and thinking it the easiest way of getting rid of him, and to avoid a scene, Stafford accompanied him to the clean and inviting little public at the corner of the quay, and permitted the man to order a glass of ale for him; the bar-maid, without receiving any intimation, placed a large joram of rum before the man, who remarked, after raising his glass to Stafford’s health: