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"And I hear them!" he added again, after a peal of thunder. "Here

they come, fast, fierce, and furious!"

It was the rush and roar of rain that he typified, and it stopped

him, for no voice could be heard in it. A memorable storm of

thunder and lightning broke with that sweep of water, and there

was not a moment's interval in crash, and fire, and rain, until

after the moon rose at midnight.

The great bell of Saint Paul's was striking one in the cleared

air, when Mr. Lorry, escorted by Jerry, high-booted and bearing a

lantern, set forth on his return-passage to Clerkenwell. There

were solitary patches of road on the way between Soho and

Clerkenwell, and Mr. Lorry, mindful of foot-pads, always retained

Jerry for this service: though it was usually performed a good

two hours earlier.

"What a night it has been! Almost a night, Jerry," said Mr.

Lorry, "to bring the dead out of their graves."

"I never see the night myself, master--nor yet I don't expect

to--what would do that," answered Jerry.