n came up to him as he stood on the jetty.

"Now then, sheer off; do you hear?" he said. "What do you want here?"

"Mayn't I watch the river?" said Reginald.

"Not here. We've had enough of your sort watching the river. Off you
go," and he laid his hand on the boy's collar and marched him off the
pier.

Of course! Who had not had enough of his sort? Who would not suspect
him wherever he went? Cain went about with a mark on his forehead for
every one to know him by. In what respect was he better off, when men
seemed to know by instinct and in the dark that he was a character to
mistrust and suspect?

The hours wore on. Even the printing-office when he passed it again was
going to rest. The compositors one by one were flitting home, and the
engine was dropping asleep. He stood and watched the men come out, and
wondered if any of them were like himself--whether among them was a
young Gedge or a Durfy?

Then he wandered off back into the heart of the town. A wretched
outcast woman, with a child in her arms, stood at the street corner and
accosted him.

"Do, kind gentleman, give me a penny. The child's starving, and we're
so cold and hungry."

"I'd give you one if I had one," said Reginald; "but I'm as poor as you
are."

The woman sighed, and drew her rags round the infant.

Reginald watched her for a moment, and then, taking off his overcoat,
said,--

"You'd better put this round you."

And he dropped it at her feet, and hurried away before she could pick up
the gift, or bless the giver.

He gave himself no credit for the deed, and he wanted none. What did he
care about a coat? he who had been frozen to the heart already. Would a
coat revive his good name, or cover the disgrace of that magisterial
caution?

The clocks struck four, and the long winter night grew bleaker and
darker. It was eleven hours since he had taken that last defiant meal,
and Nature began slowly to assert her own with the poor outcast. He was
faint and tired out, and the breeze cut him through. Still the rebel
spirit within him denied that he was in distress. No food or rest or
shelter for him! All he craved was leave to lose himself and forget his
own name.

Is it any use bidding him, as we bade him once before, turn round and
face the evil genius that is pursuing him? or is there nothing for him
now but to run? He has run all night, but he is no farther ahead than
when he stood at the police-court door. On the