Chapter 22 - Page 2

I would promise faithfully not to tell." This promise I gave with fidelity, and returning to the cabman, directed him to drive not to Messrs. Shovelin, Wayte, and Shovelin just yet, but to No. 17 European Square, St. Katharine's.

From a maze of streets and rugged corners, and ins and outs nearly as crooked as those of a narrow human nature, we turned at last into European Square, which was no square at all, but an oblong opening pitched with rough granite, and distinguished with a pump. There were great thoroughfares within a hundred yards, but the place itself seemed unnaturally quiet upon turning suddenly into it, only murmurous with distant London din, as the spires of a shell hold the heavings of the sea. After driving three or four times round the pump, for the houses were numbered anyhow, we found No. 17, and I jumped out.

"Now don't be in such a fierce hurry, Miss Wood," cried the Major, who was now a little crusty; "English ladies allow themselves to be handed out, without hurrying the gentlemen who have the honor."

"But I wanted to save you the honor," I said. "I will come back immediately, if you will kindly wait." And with this I ran up the old steps, and rang and knocked, while several bearded faces came and gazed through dingy windows.

"Can I see Mrs. Strouss?" I asked, when a queer old man in faded brown livery came to the door with a candle in his hand, though the sun was shining.

"I am the Meesther Strouss; when you see me, you behold the good Meeses Strouss also."

"Thank you, but that will not do," I replied; "my business is with Mrs. Strouss alone."

He did not seem to like this at first sight, but politely put the chain-bolt on the door while he retired to take advice; and the Major looked out of the cab and laughed.

"You had better come back while you can," he said, "though they seem in no hurry to swallow you."

This was intended to vex me, and I did not even turn my head to him. The house looked very respectable, and there were railings to the area.

"The house is very respectable," continued Major Hockin, who always seemed to know what I was thinking of, and now in his quick manner ran up the steps; "just look, the scraper is clean. You never see that, or at least not often, except with respectable people, Erema."

"Pray what would my scraper be? and who is Erema?" cried a strong, clear voice, as the chain of the door was set free, and a stout, tall woman with a flush in her cheeks confronted us. "I never knew more than one Erema--Good mercy!"

My eyes met hers, and she turned as pale as death, and fell back into a lobby chair. She knew me by my likeness to my father, falling on the memories started by my name; and strong as she was, the surprise overcame