St.Paul loomed high in the murky darkness.

He got into the ridiculously narrow streets of Paternoster Row, where he had on his first visit bought a Bible.

The evening was far spent and the crowds were thinning when he recognized the Bank of England corner.
Realizing at last that he was tired, he climbed on top of a bus going in the direction of his lodgings, where he arrived somewhere near midnight.
He went to bed, but not to sleep for many hours.
"Lucy, you are my sister.

I love you as that--but my wife you never can be--" yes; he would have to tell her that.

But why had this father of his let him and Lucy go on as they had?
He had told his father the secret of his life.