T was between twelve and one: the night was dark and wet, with some snow falling occasion ally through the blackness. The rain-swept streets were deserted, cleared by the icy gusts of wind that came whirling down them and making the light ?icker till it was blue in the lamp-posts. The Strand was almost quiet, the theatres closed. The rush of cabs, the hurry and confusion, the warfare of dripping umbrellas above the strug gling crowd, the crush of wet, wind-blown, angry figures dispersing in different directions, all the noise and bustle attending the disgorgement of the different theatres was over, and the Strand relapsed into gloomy, sullen blackness and quietude.