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"Oh! I remember. Very well, very well."

After a few dull efforts to get to sleep again, which the man

dexterously combated by stirring the fire continuously for five

minutes, he got up, tossed his hat on, and walked out. He turned

into the Temple, and, having revived himself by twice pacing the

pavements of King's Bench-walk and Paper-buildings, turned into

the Stryver chambers.

The Stryver clerk, who never assisted at these conferences, had

gone home, and the Stryver principal opened the door. He had his

slippers on, and a loose bed-gown, and his throat was bare for

his greater ease. He had that rather wild, strained, seared

marking about the eyes, which may be observed in all free livers

of his class, from the portrait of Jeffries downward, and which

can be traced, under various disguises of Art, through the

portraits of every Drinking Age.

"You are a little late, Memory," said Stryver.

"About the usual time; it may be a quarter of an hour later."