The wax candles in the wall-sconces burnt on all through the long night hours, and died out only as the early sunlight struck athwart their feeble rays. On the table lay the accumulated letters and papers, one marked across the face "immediate," in a strong, bold hand. On the floor a glove had dropped, and close beside the door lay a withered rose-bud, as it had fallen from Dick's breast-knot.
And the morning hours grew into noontide, and gave place to afternoon, followed in turn by the shadows of evening; but neither the master of the deserted room, nor the girl with the bright eyes beneath the wide hat, came back to it. And so another day was born, and died, and slipped away into eternity within the narrow confines of that solitary chamber.
END OF VOL. II.
CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.