and of brutal apathy. It seemed to him more
than probable that the only person in this street conscious of poverty, and
suffering under it, was himself.

From nightmarish dozing, he started with a vivid thought, a recollection
which seemed to pierce his brain. To whom did he owe his fall from comfort
and self-respect, and all his long miseries? To Mrs. Weare's father. And,
from this point of view, might the cheque for five pounds be considered as
mere restitution? Might it not strictly be applicable to his own
necessities?

Another little gap of semi-consciousness led to another strange reflection.
What if Mrs. Weare (a sensible woman) suspected, or even had discovered,
the truth about him. What if she secretly _meant_ the money for his own
use?

Earliest daylight made this suggestion look very insubstantial; on the
other hand, it strengthened his memory of Mr. Charman's virtual
indebtedness to him. He jumped out of bed to reach the cheque, and for an
hour lay with it in his hand. Then he rose and dressed mechanically.

After the day's work he rambled in a street of large shops. A bootmaker's
arrested him; he stood before the window for a long time, turning over and
over in his pocket a sovereign--no small fraction of the ready coin which
had to support him until dividend day. Then he crossed the threshold.

Never did man use less discretion in the purchase of a pair of boots. His
business was transacted in a dream; he spoke without hearing what he said;
he stared at objects without perceiving them. The result was that not till
he had got home, with his easy old footgear under his arm, did he become
aware that the new boots pinched him most horribly. They creaked too:
heavens! how they creaked! But doubtless all new boots had these faults; he
had forgotten; it was so long since he had bought a pair. The fact was, he
felt dreadfully tired, utterly worn out. After munching a mouthful of
supper he crept into bed.

All night long he warred with his new boots. Footsore, he limped about the
streets of a spectral city, where at every corner some one seemed to lie in
ambush for him, and each time the lurking enemy proved to be no other than
Mrs. Weare, who gazed at him with scornful eyes and let him totter by. The
creaking of the boots was an articulate voice, which ever and anon screamed
at him a terrible name. He shrank and shivered and groaned; but on he went,
for in his hand he held a crossed cheque, which he was bidd