little of it. The day was beginning to dawn.

"Now you must go, Father."

"And you, my lad?"

"Oh, I can take care of myself."

"Go back to the Brotherhood; take the dog with you----"

"The dog!" Brother Andrew seemed to be about to say something; but he
checked himself, and with a wild look he muttered: "Oh, I know what
_I'll_ do. Good-bye!"

"Good-bye!" said John, and then the broken man was back in the streets.

His nervous system had been exhausted by the events of the night, and
when he entered the railway station he could scarcely put one foot before
another. "Looks as if _he'd_ had enough," said somebody behind him. He
found an empty carriage and took his seat in the corner. A kind of stupor
had come over his faculties and he could neither think nor feel.

Three or four young men and boys were sorting and folding newspapers at a
counter that stood on trestles before the closed-up bookstall. A placard
slipped from the fingers of one of them and fell on to the floor. John
saw his own name in monster letters, and he began to ask himself what he
was doing. Was he running away? It was cowardly, it was contemptible! And
then it was so useless! He might go to the ends of the earth, yet he
could not escape the only enemy it was worth while to fly from. That
enemy was himself.

Suddenly he remembered that he had not taken his ticket, and he got out
of the train. But instead of going to the ticket office he stood aside
and tried to think what he ought to do. Then there was confusion and
noise, people were hurrying past him, somebody was calling to him, and
finally the engine whistled and the smoke rose to the roof. When he came
to himself the train was gone and he was standing on the platform alone.

"But what am I to do?" he asked himself.

It was a lovely summer morning and the streets were empty and quiet.
Little by little they became populous and noisy, and at length he was
walking in a crowd. It was nine o'clock by this time, and he was in the
Whitechapel road, going along with a motley troop of Jews, Polish Jews,
Germans, German Jews, and all the many tribes of Cockneydom. Two costers
behind him were talking and laughing.

"Lor' blesh you, it's jest abart enneff to myke a corpse laugh."

"Ain't it? An acquyntince uv mine--d'ye know Jow 'Awkins? Him as kep' the
frahd fish shop off of Flower and Dean. Yus? Well, he sold his bit uv
biziness lahst week for a song, thinkin' the world was acomin' to a end,
a