"And what if your friend is not there?" "We must try and hide somewhere," he replied. "But let us hope for the best." "I will pray that he may be there," said Rona, with simplicity. When they emerged from the omnibus, at the end of their ride, one halfpenny represented the joint capital of the firm. The wharf was dark and muddy, the black water of the basin reflecting the light of rather few lamps. But there was a warm, pleasant odor of dry hay permeating the listless atmosphere like a suggestion of sunny meadows. Felix felt in his heart that what he ought to do was to take his helpless companion to a hospital. Yet somehow the conviction was in him that, were he bereft of her, the old temptation to suicide would return with full force the moment he grew hungry again. He had had enough of it--enough of seeing the look of suspicion on the faces of those to whom he applied for help. Here was one pair of eyes which spoke trust, one innocent creature, who clung to him as her sole refuge. He could not deny himself the new, strange solace. Leaving Rona seated upon a trolley, he groped his way along the stumpy jetty to where the light in the night watchman's cabin gleamed across the dark, lapping wavelets. A man in a blue jersey was seated, smoking a pipe, on a capstan, his ugly face in shadow. "What ho, Comrade Dawkes!" said Felix, in a low tone. The man started. "You!" he said, in tones of astonishment. He turned round so as to see Felix fully. Then, rising with the difficult movement of one whose joints are crippled with rheumatics, took the young man by the sleeve and drew him a little forward, to bring his face into the light of his lamp. "'Tis yourself," he said at last; "who would have thought it? Where have you been since they let you loose?" Felix gave a short laugh. "I'm still on ticket-of-leave, mate," he said; "and if the police know I am in communication with any of the old lot, I score a black mark. But who cares? I'm desperate." The night-watchman again seated himself upon his capstan. He puffed once or twice at his pipe before he replied. "Oh, you're desperate, are you? That's how we like 'em. Always got a job on hand for desp'rate men, we have." "I'm not taking any to-night, old man," said Felix. "I'm saving a girl." This was so surprising that Dawkes turned round so as to face him completely, and took his pipe out of his mouth. "Saving a girl, are yer? What d'yer mean by that? Got religion? Ministers been at yer?" "No. But a girl dropped into my arms out of nowhere--a girl fleeing from the black wolves they call men in this city--a girl who had been trapped--a good girl, Dawkes. I've got this thing to do--just to put her somewhere, where she'll be safe." Dawkes gazed upon him with small blear eyes, deliberately. "Good-lookin', I suppose?" he remarked at length.