Martin's Lane.
"SUNDAY EVENING, No. 5, St. Martin's Lane."
Thaddeus having sealed the letter, walked out in search of Sir Robert
Somerset's habitation. After some inquiries, he found Grosvenor
Square; and amidst the darkness of the night, was guided to the house
by the light of the lamps and the lustres which shone through the
open windows. He hesitated a few minutes on the pavement, and looked
up. An old gentleman was standing with a little boy at the nearest
window. Whilst the count's eyes were fixed on these two figures, he
saw Somerset himself come up to the child, and lead it away towards a
group of ladies.
Thaddeus immediately flew to the door, with a tremor over his frame
which communicated itself to the knocker; for he knocked with such
violence that the door was opened in an instant by half-a-dozen
footmen at once. He spoke to one.
"Is Mr. Pembroke Somerset at home?"
"Yes," replied the man, who saw by his plain dress that he could not
be an invited guest; "but he is engaged with company."
"I do not want to see him now," rejoined the count; "only give him
that letter, for it is of consequence."
"Certainly, sir," replied the servant; and Thaddeus instantly
withdrew.
He now turned homeward, with his mind more than commonly depressed.
There was a something in the whole affair which pierced him to the
soul. He had seen the house that contained the man he most warmly
loved, but he had not been admitted within it.
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