There was nothing.

“I am not even sure what I am looking for,” he murmured. To Lucas he said, “Come. I need your help.”

They returned to the library. Childermass held up the glass again and said the words and looked through it.

Nothing.

He approached the window. For a moment he thought he saw something at the bottom of the glass like a pearl of white light.

“It is in the square,” he said.

“What is in the square?” asked Lucas.

Childermass did not answer. Instead, he looked out of the window. Snow covered the muddy cobbles of Hanover-square. The black railings that surrounded the enclosure in the centre shewed sharply against the whiteness. Snow was still falling and there was a sharp wind. Despite this there were several people in the square. It was well known that Mr Norrell lived in Hanover-square and people came here, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Just now a gentleman and two young ladies (all, doubtless, fanatics for magic) were standing in front of the house, gazing at it in some excitement. A little further off a dark young man was lounging against the railings. Near him was an ink-seller with a ragged coat and a little barrel of ink upon his back. On the right there was another lady. She had turned away from the house and was walking slowly in the direction of Hanover-street, but Childermass had the notion that she had been among the onlookers only a moment before. She was fashionably and expensively dressed in a dark green pelisse trimmed with ermine, and she carried a large ermine muff.

Childermass knew the ink-seller well – he had often bought ink from him. The others were, he thought, all strangers. “Do you recognize anyone?” he asked.

“That dark-haired fellow.” Lucas pointed to the young man leaning against the railings. “That is Frederick Marston. He has been here several times to ask Mr Norrell to take him as a pupil, but Mr Norrell has always refused to see him.”

“Yes. I think you told me about him.” Childermass studied the people in the square a moment longer and then he said, “Unlikely as it seems, one of them must be performing some sort of magic. I need to go down and see. Come. I cannot do this without you.”

In the square the magic was stronger than ever. The sad bell tolled inside Childermass’s head. Behind the curtain of snow the two worlds flickered back and forth, like images in a magic lantern – one moment Hanover-square, one moment dreary fields and a black writing upon the sky.

Childermass held up the wine-glass in preparation to saying the words of the spell, but there was no need. It blazed with a soft white light. It was the brightest thing in the whole of that dark winter’s day, its light clearer and purer than any lamp could be and it threw curious shadows upon the faces of Childermass and Lucas.