front of the
station, scarcely noticing any one, yet resenting the jostle and the
crush. Suddenly in the crowd in front of him he saw Krool stealing
along with a wide-awake hat well down over his eyes. Presently the
sinister figure was lost in the confusion. It did not occur to him that
perhaps Krool might be making for the same destination as himself; but
the sight of the man threw his mind into an eddy of torturing thoughts.

The flare of light, white and ghastly, at Charing Cross was shining on
a moving mass of people, so many of whom were ghastly also--derelicts
of humanity, ruins of womanhood, casuals, adventurers, scavengers of
life, prowlers who lived upon chance, upon cards, upon theft, upon
women, upon libertines who waited in these precincts for some foolish
and innocent woman whom they could entrap. Among them moved also the
thousand other good citizens bent upon catching trains or wending their
way home from work; but in the garish, cruel light, all, even the good,
looked evil in a way, and furtive and unstable. To-night, the crowd
were far more restless than usual, far more irritating in their
purposeless movements. People sauntered, jerked themselves forward,
moved in and out, as it were, intent on going everywhere and nowhere;
and the excitement possessing them, the agitation in the air, made them
seem still more exasperating, and bewildering. Newsboys with shrill
voices rasped the air with invitations to buy, and everywhere eager,
nervous hands held out their half-pennies for the flimsy sensational
rags.

Presently a girl jostled Stafford, then apologized with an endearing
word which brought a sick sensation to his brain; but he only shook his
head gravely at her. After all, she had a hard trade and it led
nowhere--nowhere.

"Coming home with me, darling?" she added in response to his meditative
look. Anything that was not actual rebuff was invitation to her blunted
sense. "Coming home with me--?"

Home! A wave of black cynicism, of sardonic mirth passed through
Stafford's brain. Home--where the business of this poor wayfarer's
existence was carried on, where the shopkeeper sold her wares in the
inner sanctuary! Home.... He shook the girl's hand from his elbow and
hastened on.

Yet why should he be angered with her, he said to himself. It was not
moral elevation which had made him rough with her, but only that word
Home she used.... The dire mockery of it burned his mind like a
corrosive acid. He