He stood on the path, and thought--before him were many lights, the lights of the distant city, and the signal-lights on the way, whilst a steady glow from the station signal-box cast the shadows of window-bars along the path. He could not help being afraid that he might be seen by the signal-man; and, in any case, the path to the town was too public a place for him; so he found his way round to the rougher path and grass on the other side of the signal-box, and crept along beneath the platform of the station, which was raised to some height above the river-bank. All was dim and confused; but lights shone from the station, and he wished to get quite away from any light, so he went creeping onwards till he was beyond the platform, and the distant country lay in gloom and stillness. There again he paused; behind him were brilliant lights, but he looked only once at them, and then turned his face away; he preferred the dark country with confused outlines of trees, and the wan river flowing between banks shadowy in the night. He must make preparations--he took comforter and handkerchief, in order that he might bind with them his ankles and hands; he could not swim, but he thought it possible that he might struggle, and he wished to render it certain that no struggles could save his life. Ah! the sound of footsteps! with his ankles bound together, he lay down on the grass that he might not be seen. Some men must be passing upon the railway-bank above; they would go by directly, and then his task would soon be done. But the men did not pass, they lingered to end their conversation, and through the darkness their voices reached to him. * * * * * ‘I say, Jim,’ it was the voice of our old acquaintance, Bill, ‘I can go on tellin’ ’ee now as there’s no one near to hear. I wish as I’d not got this bit job to do, or I’d ’a followed Mrs Salter to the town. It did make me skeared to see her white an’ bruised, an’ not a man near her to give help to her.’ After a while; ‘I says to her, says I, “Mrs Salter, an’ where be ye goin’ upon this stormy night?” an’ she says, “Don’t stop me, I’m goin’ on to t’ town, to see ’em as has harmed my chil’en, that they may give account to me. I’ll help my chil’en,” she cried, an’ she bursted out in tears. (I can’t bear t’ wimmin’s cryin’,’ added Bill, in parenthesis). ‘“He may push me agen t’ wall an’ say he’ll kill me, but I’ll foller him to t’ town, an’ see him there.”’