e few people whose curiosity induced them
to pause and look back at him, and he cursed himself for being such a
fool.

On reaching Cheapside he began to recover his self-possession, and to
walk in the storm as other men did. But in proportion as his composure
returned the enormity of his crime became more apparent to him, and the
word written in red letters became so bright that he felt as if every
passer-by must read it, unless he dropt his eyes to prevent their seeing
through them into his soul.

At London Bridge he became nervously apprehensive. Each unusually quick
footstep startled him. Every policeman was carefully avoided, and
anything approaching to a shout behind caused him to start into an
involuntary run. Despite his utmost efforts to control himself, the
strong man was unmanned; a child could have made him fly.

He was about to cross London Bridge, when he observed a policeman taking
shelter under the parapet, and apparently watching those who passed him.
Gorman could not make up his mind to go on, so he turned aside and
descended the nearest stairs.

The policeman had doubtless been watching for someone, or suspected
Gorman because of his undecided movements, for he followed him. The
latter observed this and quickened his pace. The instant he was hidden
from his pursuer, he darted away at full speed, and did not halt until
he stood at the foot of one of the stairs where wherries are usually to
be found. The sight that met his gaze there might have overawed the
most reckless of men.

A hurricane was raging such as is not often experienced in our favoured
island. The wind blew, not in gusts and squalls, but in one continuous
roar, lashing the Thames into crested waves, tearing ships from their
moorings, and dashing them against other ships, which were likewise
carried away, and swept downward with the tide. Dozens of barges were
sunk, and the shrieks of their crews were heard sometimes rising above
the storm.

The gale was at its height when Gorman came into full view of the
Thames. A waterman, who was crouching for shelter in the angle of a
warehouse, observed him, and came forward.

"An awful night, sir," he said.

"Yes," answered Gorman curtly. He started as he spoke, for he heard, or
he fancied he heard, a shout behind him.

"Is that your boat?" said he.

"It is," replied the waterman in surprise, "you don't want to go on the
water on such a night, do you?"

"Yes, I do," said Gor