“I did think of that; and, perhaps, might have done it, but I was goaded to this desperate act by a circumstance on which I won't dwell. I think I must have been mad. Very likely I shall enlist tomorrow.
“But you want rest, and have nowhere to go. Come home with me,” said the stonemason.
“You are very good, Mr. Hartley,” he replied, much affected. “This is real kindness, and I feel it—feel it deeply!”
“Come along, then,” cried Hartley. “There's a policeman moving towards us, and he'll wonder what we are about. You won't tell me your name, I suppose?”
“Call me Liddel—Walter Liddel,” replied the other. “It's not my real name, though I have a right to use it. At any rate, I mean to be known by it henceforward, and it will serve me with the recruiting sergeant.”
“It will serve you with me as well,” said Hartley. “So come along, Mr. Walter Liddel.”
Presently they encountered the policeman, who eyed them rather suspiciously, but was satisfied with a few words from Hartley.
On quitting the bridge, the stonemason turned off on the right, into Lambeth Palace Road.
They walked on in silence, for Liddel did not seem inclined to talk.
Gradually the street became wider, and Hartley, noticing that his companion began to walk very feebly, told him he had not much further to go.