A porter took charge of his box, hoisted it on his back, and
led the way to the address he gave him.
Notwithstanding the drizzle, and the angry rushes of the wind round the
street-corners, the foot-pavements were filled with men and women,
moving in different directions, like a double row of busy ants. Through
queer short cuts that terribly bewildered the way, the porter led him
to the house, and pushing the door open, went up two flights of stone
stairs and knocked at a door on the landing. Alec was shown into a room
where a good fire was blazing away with a continuous welcome; and when
seated by it drinking his tea, he saw the whole world golden through
the stained windows of his imagination.
But his satisfaction gradually passed into a vague longing after
something else. Would human nature be more perfect were it capable of
being satisfied with cakes and ale? Alec felt as if he had got to the
borders of fairy-land, and _something_ was going to happen. A door
would open and admit him into the secret of the world. But the door was
so long in opening, that he took to unpacking his box; when, as he
jumped up to thank his mother for some peculiar remembrance of his
likings, the whole affair suddenly changed to a rehearsal of death; and
his longings for the remainder of the night were towards the past.
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