e pausing for a second or
two to look around him. He was a man of about fifty, short, thin,
wiry, square-shouldered; his features firm even to sternness, and
hardened by exposure to wind and weather; his hair gray; his beard also
gray and clipped short. The harshness of his face, however, was in a
measure tempered by the look of his eyes; these were calm and
contemplative, perhaps even with a shade of melancholy in them. For
the rest, he was well and warmly clad in home-spun cloth; and he
carried with him a small hand-bag, which appeared to be his only
luggage.

He hesitated only for a moment. As he turned off to the left he met
two labourers coming along.

'This is the way to London Bridge, is it not?' he asked, slowly, and
with a strong northern accent.

'Yes, sir,' said one of them; and then, as he looked after the
departing stranger, he took the pipe from his mouth and grinned, and
said to his companion,

'Scottie means to walk it.'

The new-comer's next encounter was less satisfactory. A drunken-faced
woman jumped up from a door-step and begged for alms. He had not seen
her. Instinctively his hand went to his pocket. Then he glanced at
her.

'No!' he said, with unnecessary severity, and passed on.

But instantly the woman was transformed into a cursing and swearing
virago. She followed him, making the little thoroughfare resound with
her shrill abuse. Most people would, in such circumstances, have
looked out for a policeman, or tried to get away somewhere, but this
man turned round and stood still and regarded the woman. There was
neither anger nor surprise nor scorn in his look, but a calm
observation. He listened to her foul language, as if wishing to
understand it; and he regarded the bloated face and bleared eyes. The
woman was not prepared for this examination. With another parting
volley she slunk off. Then the new-comer continued on his way, saying
only to himself:

'It is strange. I do not think that God could have meant any of His
creatures to be like that.'

Now let us see what manner of man this was who was passing into the
larger space and wan sunlight of Euston Road, making for London Bridge,
with but little hurry, and always with his eyes regarding the withered
trees, or the closed shops, or the early omnibuses, with an observation
that had no curiosity in it, rather as if these were mere passing
phenomena that left no permanent impression on a mind too busily
occupied wi