On getting this news I started for the South Side, and had got as far as Minto Street, when, looking up one of the quiet streets leading towards St Leonards, I saw a tramp seated on a gate step, and moved up to have a look at him. So minutely had the man been described to me, that I recognised him at a glance. He was seated on the step holding his wounded arm, and staring straight before him in despair and apathy, his face white as his hair, and his whole expression that of a man longing for death to end his troubles. I stopped before him, and when his dull eyes at length rose to meet my own, I said to him sharply— “You were out at Frearton Hall last night?” A slight flush came into his bloodless face at the words, and he faintly tried to rise. “Yes, sir,” he answered. “You’re a pleeceman, though you don’t wear the clothes?” “Take care what you say—it’ll all be used against you,” I said, as I gave him my hand to help him to his feet. “Oh, I don’t mind that a bit,” he said in a woeful and weary way that went straight to my heart. “Is he dead?—the man I fired at—is he dead?” “He was not when I left him, but they’re expecting that,” I curtly answered. “Can you walk with me to the Central—it’s more than a mile—or would you need a cab?” “I’m willin’ to walk as far as my strength will carry me,” he said, with child-like obedience, as he took my arm for support. “Only to think that I’ve been an honest working man, striving to do what’s right all my life, and yet to come to be hanged for murder after all! And I’m not sorry, either. I’m glad I’ve killed him, for I expect my Meg to die through him.” I looked at him curiously, thinking that his mind was affected, but the quick eyes took in the look at once, and he added— “I’m not touched here;” and he put a finger-point to his forehead; “don’t think that. I’m as right in the head as you are—only worn out and done. I was strong enough till it was all over, and then I seemed to have not the strength of a sparrow.” I thought he was right, and at the end of the street hailed a cab from the stance, and we drove to the Central, he looking out on the crowded streets with great interest, and making another of his queer remarks. “I s’pose it’s the last time I’ll see so many people till I’m brought out to be hanged,” he said, stolidly. “Well, it won’t be any worse than what I’ve felt already here—here;” and he put his hand on his breast and quickly added, “Be you a family man, now?” I nodded gravely.