He had no regrets.

As far as such a thought could be formulated in his young mind, he wished that the place could be blotted out from his memory, as it was now hidden forever from his vision.

He stood at the little window, facing south, gazing toward the unknown region at the end of which lay London, city of dreams.

He was not quite fourteen.

His destiny was before him, and to the fulfilment thereof he saw no hindrance.