nearly seven
o'clock
-- the patron saint in charge . On his way out he found an anxious landlady upon his path . Mrs. Gibbs was soon made happy , so far as promises could do it , and in another minute he was in a hansom speeding westward . It was nearly seven o'clock on a mild April evening . The streets were full , the shops still open . As he passed along Oxford Street , monarch it seemed of all he beheld , his eyes fell on Peter Robinson 's windows , glittering with lights , and gay with spring ribbons , laces , and bright silks . An idea rushed into his mind .