About the middle of February, 1879, I was sitting at work in my lodgings in Newman Street, when I was interrupted by the advent of my landlady, to inform me that there was a gentleman below who wished to see me.

I told her to show him up, and she returned in a moment, ushering in, to my extreme surprise, Arthur Hamilton.

I confess I hardly knew him at first.

He had grown a beard, and looked thinner and graver than he used to do.

He had the same slow, almost stately movement, with a slight and not ungraceful suggestion of languor; his manner was somewhat changed, and very much improved; and he had contracted, from living so long with strangers, a delightfully frank and free way of speaking.