The man looking outside raised his clenched fists and said: "Is there no God, no justice anywhere?" As he spoke the woman dropped her fork and started, a shiver passed over her. The man at her side hastily got up, brought her a wrap and placed it on her shoulders. The man outside saw the fork fall, he saw the wrap, and he muttered again: "There is a God, there is justice; her conscience imprisons her as surely as----" "Move on there! What are you lurking about here for?" "All right, goin' 'ome, just met yer brother along there." "He's not my brother," said the constable gruffly. "Thought yer were all brothers, members of the same cloth, anyhow yer all good sorts. Good-night." "Be off home," said the constable, as he went on his way; and a second man lost a chance of promotion that night. "I must not run any more risks," thought the man, "but I'm glad I crossed the road and looked in at that window. She suffers, she could not have heard my voice, perhaps an internal justice carried it to her and my words were whispered in her ears--such things have been known. There she sits, feasting, surrounded by every comfort, but she's not happy, she never will be, such women never are. God, to think what I have gone through for her, what I have suffered! I have lived in hell, in purgatory, and I ought to be on my way to heavenly peace. God, give me a chance; I am an innocent man and You know it." "Hallo, mate, where goin'? Yer a late bird," said Brack, as he knocked against the man walking in a curiously wild way in the middle of the road. "Goin' 'ome," said the man. "That'll not get over me; yer puttin' it on. I'm fra Yorkshire, and a bit too cute for that." "What d'yer mean?" "That I've heard gents speak in my time, and I reckon you're one." The man started; at first he was inclined to bolt; then as the light of a lamp shone on Brack's face he saw it was honest, kindly, full of charity, and through it he knew there was a big heart inside the rough body. "You are right," he said. "I was a gentleman, I hope I am one still, although I have lived such a life that the wonder is I am not a beast." Brack looked hard at him; from his face his gaze wandered over his body, then he looked at his hands; one was bound up, the other had marks on it, deep marks, like the marks of teeth. Brack made up his mind. "Don't move," he said, "when I tell you something. I'm a man, not a fiend, and I've an innocent brother over there," and he jerked his hand in the direction of the moor far away. "Maybe you've seen him." The man gasped--this old sailor knew! Should he--no, the face was honest, he would trust him. "Perhaps I have," he said. "Are you the man that throttled that bloodhound?" "Why do you ask?" "Because if you are I'd like to clasp yer hand and say I think yer brave." The man held out his bandaged hand; the old sailor took it in his big, horny palm tenderly, pressing it gently. "The other one," he said. The man held out his other hand.