And then with a pleasant farewell the stranger bowed and went out of the shop, leaving behind him a memory which did more to prevent the blue devils from gaining the mastery of Frithiof’s mind than anything else could possibly have done. When he left, however, at his usual dinner hour, he was without the slightest inclination to eat, and with a craving for some relief from the monotony of the glaring streets he walked up to Regent’s Park, hoping that there perhaps he might find the fresh air for which he was longing. He thought much of his unknown customer, half laughing to himself now and then to think that such a chance encounter should have made upon him so deep an impression, should have wakened within him desires such as he had never before felt for a life which should be higher, nobler, more manly than his past. “Come along, will you?” shouted a rough voice behind him. He glanced round and saw an evil-looking tramp who was speaking to a most forlorn little boy at his heels. The child seemed ready to drop, but with a look of misery and fear and effort most painful to see in such a young face, it hurried on, keeping up a wretched little sort of trot at the heels of its father, who tramped on doggedly. Frithiof was not in the habit of troubling himself much about those he came across in life, his heart had been too much embittered by Blanche’s treatment, he had got into the way now of looking on coldly and saying with a shrug of the shoulders that it was the way of the world. But to-day the magical influence of a noble life was stirring within him; a man utterly unknown to him had spoken to him a few kindly words, had treated him with rare considerateness, had somehow raised him into a purer atmosphere. And so it happened that he, too, began to feel something of the same divine sympathy, and to forget his own wretchedness in the suffering of the little child. Presently the tramp paused outside a public-house. “Wait for me there in the park,” he said to the child, giving it a push in the direction. And the little fellow went on obediently, until, just at the gate, he caught sight of a costermonger’s barrow on which cool green leaves and ripe red strawberries were temptingly displayed. Frithiof lingered a minute to see what would happen, but nothing happened at all, the child just stood there patiently. There was no expectation on his tired little face, nothing but intense appreciation of a luxury which must forever be beyond his hopes of enjoyment. “Have you ever tasted them?” said Frithiof, drawing nearer. The boy shook his head shyly. “Would you like to?” Still he did not speak, but a look of rapture dawned in the wistful child eyes, and he gave a little spring in the air which was more eloquent than words.