HOW THE ADDRESS WAS LOST

And now the end of that journey, never altogether forgotten by either of them, was close at hand.  Tunnels became more frequent, the green fields gave way to an interminable waste of houses, the gloom of the autumn afternoon was deepened.  The speed of the train decreased, the heart of Douglas Jesson beat fast with anticipation.  For now indeed he was near the end of his journey, the beginning of his new life.  What matter that the outlook from where he sat was dreary enough.  Beyond, there was a glow in the sky; beyond was an undiscovered world.  He was young, and he came fresh to the fight.  The woman who watched him wondered.

“Will you tell me,” she said, “now that you are in London, what will you do?  You have money perhaps, or will you work?”

“Money,” he laughed, gaily at first, but with a chill shiver immediately afterwards.  Yes, he had money.  For the moment he had forgotten it.

“I have a small sum,” he said, “just sufficient to last me until I begin to earn some.”

“And you will earn money—­how?”

“With my pen, I hope,” he answered simply.  “I have sent several stories to the Ibex.  One they accepted, but it has not appeared yet.”

“To make money by writing in London is very difficult they say,” she remarked.

“Everything in life is difficult,” he answered confidently.  “I am prepared for disappointment at first.  In the end I have no fears.”

She handed him a card from her dressing-case.

“Will you come and see me?” she asked.

“Thank you,” he answered hesitatingly.  “I will come when I have made a start.”

“I know a great many people who are literary, including the editor of the Ibex,” she said.  “I think if you came that I could help you.”

He shook his head.

“The narrow way for me,” he answered smiling.  “I am very anxious for success, but I want to win it myself.”

Her face was clouded.

“You are a foolish boy,” she said.  “Believe me that I am offering you the surest path to success.  London is full of young men with talent, and most days they go hungry.”

He stood up, and, though she was annoyed, the fire in his eyes was good to look upon.

“I must take my place with them,” he said.  “Whatever my destiny may be I shall find it.”

The final tunnel, and they were gliding into the station alongside the platform.  A tall footman threw open the door of the carriage, and a lady’s maid, with a jewel case in her hand, stared at him with undisguised curiosity.  The lady bade him goodbye kindly, yet with a note of final dismissal in her tone.  He had occupied her time for an hour or two, and saved her from absolute boredom.  The matter was ended there.  Nevertheless, from a quiet corner of the station he watched her stand listlessly on the platform while her things were being collected—­a tall, distinguished looking