It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. Boys, at the time of which we write, were attired like men of their own day, or certain charity-children of ours; and the stripling in question was dressed in black plush breeches, and a gray drugget waistcoat, with immoderately long pockets, both of which were evidently the cast-off clothes of some one considerably his senior. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. She rode him gently. There was nothing to be learned from her face.
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