"No," he replied. "None of these things. I can't think to-night, Jean. You must think my conduct very strange. I simply can't think! It will be all real to me in a few hours. You know what these Manchester fogs are, don't you? You know that sometimes you get lost in them. You cannot recognise the street in which you were born and reared. Everything is blotted out. Then presently, when the fog has rolled away--everything becomes clear. Perhaps that is what it will be with me by and by, but now I simply cannot think. I do not blame you in the slightest degree. It's just that you should hate me! It's just that I should suffer! Is there nothing more you wish to say to me?" "Not now," said the woman. "I do not ask you to forgive me; you cannot do that. It's not to be expected." "But what are you going to do?" she asked. "I do not know. I cannot tell yet. When my mind gets clear I shall understand. But I seem to be falling and falling and falling into a bottomless abyss just now." "You don't expect me to keep quiet?" "I expect nothing." "You do not ask me to be merciful to you?" "I do not ask anything. I've no right to expect anything or to ask anything. I think I will leave you now--that is, unless I can do anything for you. You do not need money, do you?" He did not know what he was saying. His bewildered brain was expressing itself in an inconsequent sort of way. He was just a creature of impulse, and that was all. "Money!" snarled the woman. "Money! when my son is lying in a prison cell waiting for the hangman!" "Yes," he said, and his voice seemed as the voice of one far away. "In a prison cell, my son! my son! It is right that I should suffer, but surely he ought not to suffer!" He rose to his feet and walked unsteadily towards the door. "May I go now? You know where I am staying. If I can be of any service to you, let me know." "And that's all? You have nothing more to say?" "What can there be more?" he said. "You can do what you will; I will deny nothing." "But what are you going to do?" she asked again. "Do? What is there to do? I cannot tell; I am just in the dark, Jean, but perhaps a light will come presently." And then, without another word, he found his way along the narrow passage into the dark, forbidding street. CHAPTER XXI TRAVAIL