Then, gradually, full consciousness returned. He glanced up
and beheld the black garden of a square. Somehow it looked familiar. He
seemed to know those shadowy, leafless trees, the roadway between him
and them, even the pavement upon which his boots--his own boots--were
set. His lack-lustre eyes travelled to the houses that bordered the
square, then to the house against whose area railings he was leaning,
and he started with amazement. For he was in Berkeley Square, leaning
against the railing of number one thousand. He gazed up at the windows.
One or two faint lights twinkled. Then perhaps the household had not yet
retired for the night. An idea seized him. He must rest. He must snatch
a brief interval of repose, before starting for the docks at dawn to
find a ship in whose hold he could seek seclusion, till the great seas
roared round her, and he could declare himself to the captain and
crew without fear of being put ashore. Why not rest here in number one
thousand? True, the Prophet would presently be returning possibly with
Madame, but he would bribe Mr. Ferdinand not to mention his whereabouts.
It was no doubt a very rash proceeding, but he was utterly exhausted,
he felt that he could go no further, he found himself before an almost
friendly door.
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