CHAPTER VIII.
SUNDAY.
_La notte e madre di pensieri_.
Now tell me how you are as to religion?
You are a clear good man--but I rather fear You have not much of it.
_Faust_.
It was all very well to talk about going away; but the matter looked very differently by daylight.

It was Sunday; and I knew I could not go away for a day or two, and not even then without making a horrid sort of stir, for which I had not the courage in cold blood.

Besides, I did not even know that I wanted to go if I could.

Varick-street! Hateful, hateful thought.

No, I could not go there.