as aged and experienced had taken full hold of him.

He was not wholly certain that he adored the pretty girl at the
bonnet-shop. He had never spoken to her, for one thing, and had only
seen her from a distance, but she did well enough to moon about, and
made an excellent peg to hang verses on.

He had been away on a lovely summer evening's ramble into the quiet of
the country. He had been verse-making or verse-polishing, and was in a
high state of mental exaltation when he reached the darkened main street
of the town about ten o'clock. He turned the corner, and walked straight
into the arms of a woman, who hugged him with a drunken ardour. Her
breath was fiery with gin, and the coarsely-sweet scent of it filled him
with an impulse of loathing.

'Let go,' said Paul

'Deed I'll not let go,' the woman answered, in a drunken voice. 'Ye're
just sent here be Providence to see a poor lonely little craychure
home.'

'Let go,' said Paul again; but she clung and laughed, and, in a sudden
spasm of downright horror, he put out more strength than he guessed,
and wrenched himself free. The woman tottered backwards, swayed for an
instant, and then fell. The back of her head came into sharp contact
with the corner of the wall. She lay quite still, and Paul grew
frightened. 'Here,' he said, 'take my hand. Let me help you up.' He had
not expected her to answer, but her continued silence seemed dreadful.
He kneeled to look closely into her face. She was quite young--not more
than two or three and twenty at the outside--and she had a quantity of
light auburn hair, which, though untidy, had a soft beauty of its own.
Her eyes were closed, and her face was white. 'Now, don't lie there
pretending to be killed,' said Paul, in an unsteady voice. She made no
movement, and he rose and looked about him in dismay.

There was not a creature in the street, and the public lamps were never
lighted in the summer-time. A long way off the windows of a gin-shop
cast a light upon the road, and nearer, on the opposite side, a red
lamp burned. With a lingering glance of fear and pity at the recumbent
figure, Paul sped towards the red lamp as fast as he could lift a leg.
In his agitation he gave such a tug at the bell that it clanged like a
fire-alarm. The doctor's assistant, a dashing young gentleman whom Paul
knew from afar, and who was remarkable to him chiefly for an expensive
taste in clothing, came briskly to the door.

'There's a woman at the co