bouncer. They are in flannels, and their faces are
familiar, and the names they call each other he knows. Nor is the game
the same. It, like the London boys' game, has ended suddenly, but not
in a helter-skelter stampede in the rain. No. It is a silent, awe-
struck group round something on the ground; and as he, Jeffreys, elbows
his way among them, he sees again a boy's face lying there pallid and
perhaps lifeless. Then instinctively he lifts his hands to his ears.
For a howl rises on all sides which deafens him, stuns him.

After all, it is only the last effort of the October squall in Regent's
Park buffeting him with a fusillade of rain and withered leaves. He
takes his hands from his ears, and with a sigh gets up and walks away,
he cares not whither.

His steps lead him round the park and into the long avenue. The rain
and the wind are dying down, and already a few wayfarers, surprised by
the sudden storm, are emerging from their shelters and speeding home.
The park-keeper boldly parades the path in his waterproof, as if he had
braved the elements since daybreak. A nursemaid draws out her
perambulator from under the trees and hastens with it and its wailing
occupant nursery-wards. And there, coming to meet him, sheltered under
one umbrella, are two who perhaps have no grudge against the storm for
detaining them in their walk that afternoon.

It is long since Jeffreys has seen anything to remind him of the world
he has left, but there is something about these two as they advance
towards him, their faces hidden by the umbrella, which attracts him.
The youth is slim and well-dressed, and holds himself well; his
companion's figure reminds him of a form he knew--can it be only six
months ago?--light, gentle, courageous, beside which he has walked in
the Wildtree Park and on the London pavements. Ah, how changed now!

Where, he wonders, is _she_ now? and what is she thinking of him, if she
thinks of him at all?

They meet--the tramp and the young couple. They never heed him; how
should they? But a turn of the umbrella gives him a momentary glimpse
of them, and in that glimpse poor hapless Jeffreys recognises Raby and
Scarfe! Surely this blow was not needed to crush him completely!
Scarfe! How long he stood, statue-like, looking down the path by which
they had gone neither he nor any one else could tell. But it was dark
when he was roused by a harsh voice in front of him.

"Come, sheer off, young fello