As in the inmost dells of some small tropic island the throbbing of the ocean lingers, so here a faint pervading hum and trepidation told in every corner of surrounding London.
At the hour already named, persons acquainted with John Dickson, of Ballarat, and Ezra Thomas, of the United States of America, would have been cheered to behold them enter through the booking-office.
'What names are we to take ?' enquired the latter, anxiously adjusting the window-glass spectacles which he had been suffered on this occasion to assume.
'There's no choice for you, my boy,' returned Michael.

'Bent Pitman or nothing.

As for me, I think I look as if I might be called Appleby; something agreeably old-world about Appleby--breathes of Devonshire cider.

Talking of which, suppose you wet your whistle?
the interview is likely to be trying.' 'I think I'll wait till afterwards,' returned Pitman; 'on the whole, I think I'll wait till the thing's over.

I don't know if it strikes you as it does me; but the place seems deserted and silent, Mr Finsbury, and filled with very singular echoes.' 'Kind of Jack-in-the-box feeling ?' enquired Michael, 'as if all these empty trains might be filled with policemen waiting for a signal?
and Sir Charles Warren perched among the girders with a silver whistle to his lips?
It's guilt, Pitman.' In this uneasy frame of mind they walked nearly the whole length of the departure platform, and at the western extremity became aware of a slender figure standing back against a pillar.