less
intoxicated; and how Mrs. Kebby, the deaf charwoman who cleaned out Mr.
Berwin's rooms, declined to sleep in the house because she considered
that there was something wrong about her employer.

To such gossip Denzil paid little attention, until his skein of life
became unexpectedly entangled with that of the strange gentleman. The
manner of their meeting was unforeseen and peculiar.

One foggy November night, Lucian, returning from the theatre, shortly
after eleven o'clock, dismissed his hansom at the entrance to the square
and walked thereinto through the thick mist, trusting to find his way
home by reason of two years' familiarity with the precincts. As it was
impossible to see even the glare of the near gas lamp in the murky air,
Lucian felt his way cautiously along the railings. The square was filled
with fog, dense to the eye and cold to the feel, so that Lucian shivered
with the chill, in spite of the fur coat over his evening clothes.

As he edged gingerly along, and thought longingly of the fire and supper
awaiting him in his comfortable rooms, he was startled by hearing a
deep, rich voice boom out almost at his feet. To make the phenomenon
still more remarkable, the voice shaped itself into certain well-known
words of Shakespeare:

"Oh!" boomed this _vox et praeterea nihil_ in rather husky tones, "Oh!
that a man should put an enemy in his mouth to steal away his brains!"
And then through the mist and darkness came the unmistakable sound of
sobs.

"God bless me!" cried Lucian, leaping back, with shaken nerves. "Who is
this? Who are you?"

"A lost soul!" wailed the deep voice, "which God will not bless!" And
then came the sobbing again.

It made Denzil's blood run cold to hear this unseen creature weeping in
the gloom. Moving cautiously in the direction of the sound, he stumbled
against a man with his folded arms resting on the railings, and his face
bent down on his arms. He made no attempt to turn when Lucian touched
him, but with downcast head continued to weep and moan in a very frenzy
of self-pity.

"Here!" said the young barrister, shaking the stranger by the shoulder,
"what is the matter with you?"

"Drink!" stuttered the man, suddenly turning with a dramatic gesture. "I
am an object lesson to teetotalers; a warning to topers; a modern helot
made shameful to disgust youth with vice."

"You had better go home, sir," said Lucian sharply.

"I can't find home. It is somewhere hereabout, but