"Prosperity to you, at least," he said, gravely now, "and success in all that you desire. For that I will ever pray, as well as for a happy issue for you and your mother out of all your afflictions," and here he bent his head as he recited those solemn and beautiful words. "And now, farewell, Gerald, farewell, Lord St. Amande. Any letter sent to me here at the College must ever find me, and it will pleasure me to have news of you, and more especially so if that news is good. Fare ye well."
And so, after my thanks had been again and again tendered to him, we parted, and I, making my way swiftly to the quay was soon on board the packet. But I thought much of him for many a long day after, and when, at last, Providence once more, in its strange and mysterious visitations, brought me face to face with him again and I saw him well and happy and prosperous, I did indeed rejoice.
And now the coach was rolling rapidly over Hadley Heath, that dreaded spot where so many travellers had met with robbery, and sometimes death, from highwaymen (one of whom and the most notorious, one Richard Turpin, was hanged at York a little more than a year after we passed over it); and the passengers began to point out to each other the bodies of three malefactors swinging in chains as a warning to others. Yet, it being daytime as we crossed the heath, I took very little heed of their stories and legends, but peered out of the window and told Oliver that this place was not many miles from London, and that we should soon be there now. As, indeed, he could see for himself, for soon the villages came thicker and thicker together; between Whetstone and Highgate we passed many beautiful seats, doubtless the suburban retreats of noblemen and gentry, while, at Highgate itself, so close were the dwellings together that, had we not met a party of huntsmen with their horns and hounds, who, the guard told us, were returning from hunting, we should have supposed we were already in London instead of being still four miles from it. But those four miles passed quickly and soon we arrived.
So now we had come to the inn whence the north-western coaches departed, and at which they arrived three times a week with a regularity that seems incredible, since, even in the worst of wintry weather, they were scarce ever more than a day behind in their time. And here amongst all the bustle of our arrival, of the shouts of the hackney coachmen to those whom they would have as fares, and of the porters with their knots, Oliver and I engaged a coach, had our necessaries put on it, and gave directions to be driven to my mother's abode.
The house in Denzil Street, to which we soon arrived, presented but a sordid appearance such as made me feel a pang to think that my dear mother should be forced to live in such a place when, had she but possessed all that should have been hers, her lot would have been far different. The street had once been, I have since heard, the abode of fashion--indeed 'twas a connection of my mother's house, one William Holles, a relative of that Denzil Holles who had been, as many even now recall, one of the members impeached of high treason by King Charles, who built it,--but certainly 'twas no longer so. Many of the houses seemed to be occupied by persons of no better condition than musicians and music-teachers; a laundry-woman had a shop at one end in which might be seen the girls at work as we passed by; there were notices of rooms to be let in several of the houses, and there was much garbage in the streets. Heaven knows I had seen so much squalor and wretchedness in Dublin, and especially in the places where I had lain hid, that I, of all others, should have felt but little distaste for even such a place as this, nor should I have done so in this case had it not been that it seemed so ill-fitting a spot for my mother, with her high birth and early surroundings, to be now harbouring in.
Nor did the maid who opened the door to us present a more favourable appearance than the street itself, she being a dirty, slatternly creature who looked as if the pots and pans of the kitchen were her constant companions. Neither was she of an overwhelming civility, since, when she stood before us, her remark was:
"What want you?" and, seeing our necessaries on the hackney coach, added, "There are no spare rooms here."
"We wish to see the Lady St. Amande," I said, assuming as much sternness as a youth of my age could do. "Tell her----"
"She is sick," the servant replied, "and can see none but her physician."
"Tell her," I went on, "that her son, Lord St. Amande, with his companion, Mr. Quin, has arrived from Ireland. Tell her, if you please, at once."