CHAPTER I

GREY FRIARS, THE CHARTER HOUSE

S we whirled up Holborn, I caught now

As

and then, through the side window of the taxi, glimpses of places I knew. At Staple Inn was the entrance gate where I had once painted in the rain, my feet on a plank to keep them off the soggy, water-soaked grass - the day the old porter had thawed me out before his soft-coal fire, and I had sent for something warmer, which we shared between us. Then I overlooked the Market, with its long line of big white wagons filled with the carcasses of the night's kill; and a little later plunged into the unknown, up a side alley, down the street of St. John, around a silent, deserted Square, hemmed about by an iron railing, the sad, melancholy trees standing like homeless tramps, the raindrops dripping from their broad, leafcovered shoulders - nothing so depressing as a London park in a wet fog- and last, up a still narrower street until we stopped at the ancient

gateway in Cistercian Square where lies the old Hospital of Grey Friars.

We had reached it at last - the very street that the Colonel had trod on his daily walks to the city, Pendennis and Clive sometimes beside him, their anguished hearts full of an unspoken tenderness. Ethel, too Ethel, too brave, loyal Ethel, who had discovered the letter bequeathing her "dear, dear uncle" £500, had passed through this very gate eager to carry the news to the Colonel. Pendennis, on whose arm she entered, was a happy man that day.

"As we traversed the court the Poor Brothers were coming from dinner," he says. "A couple of score, or more, of old gentlemen in black gowns issued from the door of their refectory and separated over the court, betaking themselves to their chambers. Ethel's arm trembled under mine as she looked at one and another, expecting to behold her dear uncle's familiar features. But he was not among the brethren. We went to his chamber, of which the door was open; a female attendant was arranging the room; she told us Colonel Newcome was out for the day, and thus our journey had been in vain."

Neither did I find him at home. The same old porter listened attentively to my request,

and, in reply, pointed to the house of the Head Master. He had grown younger, of course, in all the years, but he wore the same livery the same coat for all I know. And the same old Head Master welcomed me, holding my card in his hand, looking at me over the top of his glasses a brave, thoughtful man of seventy, perhaps, with a cheery, hearty manner, and one of those fresh English complexions that neither age nor climate affects. I forget what his name was in the Colonel's time, but it is the Reverend Mr. Davies now.

He led me to a wide, open court, framed about by quaint buildings, and covered by clean gravel, over which strolled in twos and threes, some of the Poor Brothers whom Ethel had seen in their long, black gowns, most of them bareheaded, for it was June, and the sun had come out for a brief spell.

Here he paused.

"Before I show you Colonel Newcome's room" he, too, I saw, had fallen into the habit of mixing his personalities - "I want you to see our great Hall Guesten Hall. I have brought the keys, for this part of Charter House is not shown except in special cases." He fitted a great key into a massive lock, and pushed in the door, revealing a spacious pan