Not that a man who has no
To-morrow in view is likely to be particularly conscious of mental
processes. He was done for, but he stood and stared at her. What part
of the Power moving the scheme of the universe stood near and thrust him
on in the path designed he did not know then--perhaps never did. He was
still holding on to the thing in his pocket, but he spoke to her again.

"What do you mean?" he asked glumly.

She sidled nearer, her sharp eyes on his face.

"I bin watchin' yer," she said. "I sat down and pulled the sack over me
'ead to breathe inside it an' get a bit warm. An' I see yer come. I
knowed wot yer was after, I did. I watched yer through a 'ole in me
sack. I wasn't goin' to call a copper. I shouldn't want ter be stopped
meself if I made up me mind. I seed a gal dragged out las' week an'
it'd a broke yer 'art to see 'er tear 'er clothes an' scream. Wot
business 'ad they preventin' 'er goin' off quiet? I wouldn't 'a'
stopped yer--but w'en the quid fell, that made it different."

"I--" he said, feeling the foolishness of the statement, but making it,
nevertheless, "I am ill."

"Course yer ill. It's yer 'ead. Come along er me an' get a cup er
cawfee at a stand, an' buck up. If yer've give me that quid straight--
wish-yer-may-die--I'll go with yer an' get a cup myself. I ain't 'ad a
bite since yesterday--an' 't wa'n't nothin' but a slice o' polony
sossidge I found on a dust-'eap. Come on, mister."

She pulled his coat with her cracked hand. He glanced down at it
mechanically, and saw that some of the fissures had bled and the
roughened surface was smeared with the blood. They stood together in
the small space in which the fog enclosed them--he and she--the man with
no To-morrow and the girl thing who seemed as old as himself, with her
sharp, small nose and chin, her sharp eyes and voice--and yet--perhaps
the fogs enclosing did it--something drew them together in an uncanny
way. Something made him forget the lost clew to the lodging-house--
something made him turn and go with her--a thing led in the dark.

"How can you find your way?" he said. "I lost mine."

"There ain't no fog can lose me," she answered, shuffling along by his
side; "'sides, it's goin' to lift. Look at that man comin' to'ards us."

It was true that they could see through the orange-colored mist the
approaching figure of a man who was at a yard's distance from them. Yes,
it was lifting slightly--at least enough to all