to.' The cough took him here again,
and tore him so that he was fain to lean against the shutters of a shop
near at hand.

'Why do you come back here? Are you mad?'

'I am--almost. What could I do? I'm as safe here as I am anywhere.
Who would know me? or, if they did, who would hurt a wretch like me?
I haven't slept in a bed for weeks, Phil. I haven't eaten a morsel for
three days. For God's sake! give me some money. I'll--I'll go away; I'll
never trouble you again.'

'I'll give you all I can. But you must go away from London.'

Philip thrust his hand into his pocket and brought up all the pocket's
contents. He took his keys and an unvalued trifle or two from the
handful, and held the rest out towards his father. The old man shrunk
from him with a terrible appeal and shamefaced gratitude which cut the
son's heart like a knife.

'Where can I go to?'

'Anywhere out of London. You are not--safe here. Go away. Write to me
here.' He thrust an envelope on which his name and address were written
into the old man's dirty trembling hand. 'You must never come to see me.
Promise me that.'

'I promise,' he said; and, thrusting the money and the envelope
somewhere among his rags, stood silent for a while. 'I'm afraid,' he
said, 'I acted very foolishly and very----'

Then his voice trailed away again.

'God help you!' said Philip with a choking voice.

'You'll shake hands, won't you, Phil? 'said the old man. Phil took the
proffered hand. 'It's something,' said Bommaney the elder, clinging
to him, 'to feel an honest man's hand again, God bless you, Phil!--God
bless you!'

Philip stood silent, and the old man, with another shame-stricken glance
upon him, moved away. His son watched him for a second or two, as he
slunk, coughing and shivering, along the gleaming pavement, and then
turned and went his own way heavily.

Bommaney senior, discerning the welcome beacon of a public-house,
shuffled eagerly towards it, hugging beneath his rags the money his son
had given him.

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Bommaney; if you please, sir.' He started at
the sound of a voice which had been familiar to him for years. 'I should
like a word with you, sir; if you please.'

IV

James Hornett was less changed than his old employer, but it was evident
that he too had fallen upon evil times. For a mere second the familiar
tones of his voice were no more than familiar to Bommaney, whose mind
was confused by long misery and hunger and sl