"Constance.

My life, my joy, my food, my all the world, My widow-comfort."-- King John.
Amidst the glare of lamps--the rattle of carriages--the lumbering of carts and waggons--the throng, the clamour, the reeking life and dissonant roar of London, Philip woke from his happy sleep.

He woke uncertain and confused, and saw strange eyes bent on him kindly and watchfully.
"You have slept well, my lad!" said the passenger, in the deep ringing voice which made itself heard above all the noises around.
"And you have suffered me to incommode you thus!" said Philip, with more gratitude in his voice and look than, perhaps, he had shown to any one out of his own family since his birth.
"You have had but little kindness shown you, my poor boy, if you think so much of this." "No--all people were very kind to me once.

I did not value it then." Here the coach rolled heavily down the dark arch of the inn-yard.
"Take care of yourself, my boy! You look ill;" and in the dark the man slipped a sovereign into Philip's hand.
"I don't want money.

Though I thank you heartily all the same; it would be a shame at my age to be a beggar.