The street was quite deserted, swimming in a cold, pale light; the trees, the houses, the church, the garden-walls, sharp and black; the street, dim and precipitous, tumbling forward into the blue, whence lights, one, two, three, now a little bunch together, came pricking out.
The old woman opened the door when he rang Mr.Somerset's bell.
"Master's been called away," she said in her croaking voice.

"A burial.
'E 'adn't time to let you know.

'Tell the little gen'l'man,' 'e said, 'I'm sorry.'" "All right," said Jeremy; "thank you." He descended the steps, then stood where he was, in the street, looking up and down.

Who could deny that it was all being arranged for him?
He felt more than ever like God as he looked proudly about him.

Everything served his purpose.
The jingling of the money in his pocket reminded him that he must waste no more time.