The rain had cleared the streets, and the occasional gleam of a policeman’s cape or a furtive figure seeking the shelter of a doorway against the drifting showers was all he saw as he bored his way against the rising wind to the corner of Holborn. He was so absorbed by that fancy of music to which his own quick tread kept time that a shuffling step behind him rapidly drawing nearer failed to reach his sense. But as he came to the corner, a hand clutched his arm.
He turned, with the quick defensive gesture natural to a man so accosted at such a time, and faced the unexpected figure. An old man, clad in filthy fluttering rags, stood staring at him, with both hands stretched out. The rags shook as much with the horrible cough that tore him as with the cruel wind. He was a dreadful creature, with watery eyes, and a head and moustache of dirty gray. His long and unvenerable hairs strayed loose beneath the dunghill relic which crowned them. The rain was in his hair and beard, and had so soaked his tattered dress that it clung to him like the feathers of a drenched fowl. He shook and wheezed and panted, and gripped the air with tremulous fingers, and through the rents in his clothing his white flesh gleamed in the gaslight.
The look of surprise and pity which Philip bent upon this unclean apparition was startled into one of sudden fear and horror. In the very instant when these emotions struck him, they were reflected in the other’s face. The man made a motion to run, but Philip clutched his arm, and he stood cowering and unresisting.
‘You! Here in London?’
‘Phil,’ said the spectre imploringly, ‘for God’s sake help me. I didn’t know it was you, when I followed you. I thought——’ his voice trailed into silence.
‘You have come to this?’
‘Yes, Phil; this is what I’ve come to.’ The cough took him here again, and tore him so that he was fain to lean against the shutters of a shop near at hand.
‘Why do you come back here? Are you mad?’
‘I am—almost. What could I do? I’m as safe here as I am anywhere. Who would know me? or, if they did, who would hurt a wretch like me? I haven’t slept in a bed for weeks, Phil. I haven’t eaten a morsel for three days. For God’s sake! give me some money. I’ll—I’ll go away; I’ll never trouble you again.’
‘I’ll give you all I can. But you must go away from London.’