"You've been to see him, John? You are a good man, John. You deserve a less troublesome wife. When that creature in rags wanted to sell his secret, I pretended I didn't care. But I did. It made me sick and sorry to think of that poor, bad man, without a friend or a helper in his time of need. You are not jealous, are you, John? I did love the man once. He is a worthless, wicked man. You are not jealous, are you, John? I have no such feeling left for him. It is all pity--pity for a man who is punished for his sins." "Not I, lass--not I. Pity him as much as you please." "Tell me what he looks like." "Well, he's like this young fellow Dick. Also, he's like that other chap--Sir Humphrey--more like him than the other. He's grey now, and thin, cheeks sunk in, and fingers like bits of glass. I told him who I was, but he only half understood. He won't desert any more women, I reckon. They've got stories about him at the Hospital--the boys there pick up everything. No, Alice. I don't think it would make this fellow they call Dick any happier to see his father. I'll go again. Don't think of him any more, my dear. Remember what the doctor said. Keep quiet." CHAPTER XIII. A MIDNIGHT WALK. "Let me walk home with you," said Dick. "It is a fine night, and we can walk." They left the hotel, and turned northwards across Trafalgar Square. "The pale, worn face of that poor woman haunts me, Molly. It is a strange adventure." "You will love her, Dick, as much as I do. But there is that trouble behind, whatever it is, that she has not yet told me." Dick looked up and straightened himself. They were in the crowd--the crowd infect and horrible at the top of the Haymarket. "It is really peaceful night," he said. "The air just here is corrupt with voices, and there are shapes about that mock the peace of darkness; but it is really peaceful night." "And overhead are the stars, just as in the country." "You are like the lady in _Comus_, Molly. These are only shapes and shadows that you see. They do not exist, except in imagination. They are the ghosts and devils that belong to night in streets." Molly pressed a little closer to him, but made no reply. What do men understand of the wonder, the bewilderment, with which a girl looks on the rabble rout, if ever she is permitted to see it? What does it reveal to her, this mockery of the peaceful night? Presently they came to the upper end of Regent Street, which was quieter; and to Portland Place, which was quite deserted and peaceful; and then to the outer circle of Regent's Park, where they were beyond the houses, and where the cool wind of October fell upon their faces from the broad level of the park. "It is almost country here. Let us walk in the middle of the road, Molly." He held out his left hand. Molly linked her little finger with his. "That is the way we used to walk what time we went on tramp, Molly." "Yes, Dick; it was this way." She was strangely quiet, contrary to her usual manner.