Earles recovered his spirits. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. Entering London, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in Rupert Street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price.
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