The shopkeepers found out that the once fashionable street was dark, and that the dingy light did not show off their goods to advantage; the surgeon could not see to draw his patient's teeth; the lawyer had to ring for candles an hour earlier than he was accustomed to do when living in a more plebeian street.

In short, by mutual consent, the whole front of one side of the street was pulled down, and rebuilt in the flat, mean, unrelieved style of George the Third.

The body of the houses was too solidly grand to submit to alteration; so people were occasionally surprised, after passing through a commonplace-looking shop, to find themselves at the foot of a grand carved oaken staircase, lighted by a window of stained glass, storied all over with armorial bearings.
Up such a stair--past such a window (through which the moonlight fell on her with a glory of many colours)--Ruth Hilton passed wearily one January night, now many years ago.

I call it night; but, strictly speaking, it was morning.

Two o'clock in the morning chimed forth the old bells of St Saviour's.