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on。 He looked on a while himself。 There was one tall；
graceful maiden； skating hand in hand with a youth； on whom
she bestowed her bright eyes perhaps too patently； and it was
strange with what anger John beheld her。 He could have
broken forth in curses； he could have stood there； like a
mortified tramp； and shaken his fist and vented his gall upon
her by the hour … or so he thought； and the next moment his
heart bled for the girl。 'Poor creature； it's little she
knows！' he sighed。 'Let her enjoy herself while she can！'
But was it possible； when Flora used to smile at him on the
Braid ponds； she could have looked so fulsome to a sick…
hearted bystander？
The thought of one quarry； in his frozen wits； suggested
another； and he plodded off toward Craigleith。 A wind had
sprung up out of the north…west； it was cruel keen； it dried
him like a fire； and racked his finger…joints。 It brought
clouds； too； pale； swift； hurrying clouds； that blotted
heaven and shed gloom upon the earth。 He scrambled up among
the hazelled rubbish heaps that surround the caldron of the
quarry； and lay flat upon the stones。 The wind searched
close along the earth； the stones were cutting and icy； the
bare hazels wailed about him； and soon the air of the
afternoon began to be vocal with those strange and dismal
harpings that herald snow。 Pain and misery turned in John's
limbs to a harrowing impatience and blind desire of change；
now he would roll in his harsh lair； and when the flints
abraded him； was almost pleased； now he would crawl to the
edge of the huge pit and look dizzily down。 He saw the
spiral of the descending roadway； the steep crags； the
clinging bushes； the peppering of snow…wreaths； and far down
in the bottom； the diminished crane。 Here； no doubt； was a
way to end it。 But it somehow did not take his fancy。
And suddenly he was aware that he was hungry； ay； even
through the tortures of the cold； even through the frosts of
despair； a gross； desperate longing after food； no matter
what； no matter how； began to wake and spur him。 Suppose he
pawned his watch？ But no； on Christmas…day … this was
Christmas…day！ … the pawnshop would be closed。 Suppose he
went to the public…house close by at Blackhall； and offered
the watch； which was worth ten pounds； in payment for a meal
of bread and cheese？ The incongruity was too remarkable； the
good folks would either put him to the door； or only let him
in to send for the police。 He turned his pockets out one
after another； some San Francisco tram…car checks； one cigar；
no lights； the pass…key to his father's house； a pocket…
handkerchief； with just a touch of scent： no； money could be
raised on none of these。 There was nothing for it but to
starve； and after all； what mattered it？ That also was a
door of exit。
He crept close among the bushes； the wind playing round him
like a lash； his clothes seemed thin as paper； his joints
burned； his skin curdled on his bones。 He had a vision of a
high…lying cattle…drive in California； and the bed of a dried
stream with one muddy pool； by which the vaqueros had
encamped： splendid sun over all； the big bonfire blazing； the
strips of cow browning and smoking on a skewer of wood； how
warm it was； how savoury the steam of scorching meat！ And
then again he remembered his manifold calamities； and
burrowed and wallowed in the sense of his disgrace and shame。
And next he was entering Frank's restaurant in Montgomery
Street； San Francisco； he had ordered a pan…stew and venison
chops； of which he was immoderately fond； and as he sat
waiting； Munroe； the good attendant； brought him a whisky
punch； he saw the strawberries float on the delectable cup；
he heard the ice chink about the straws。 And then he woke
again to his detested fate； and found himself sitting； humped
together； in a windy combe of quarry refuse … darkness thick
about him； thin flakes of snow flying here and there like
rags of paper； and the strong shuddering of his body clashing
his teeth like a hiccough。
We have seen John in nothing but the stormiest condition； we
have seen him reckless； desperate； tried beyond his moderate
powers； of his daily self； cheerful； regular； not unthrifty；
we have seen nothing； and it may thus be a surprise to the
reader to learn that he was studiously careful of his health。
This favourite preoccupation now awoke。 If he were to sit
there and die of cold； there would be mighty little gained；
better the police cell and the chances of a jury trial； than
the miserable certainty of death at a dyke…side before the
next winter's dawn； or death a little later in the gas…
lighted wards of an infirmary。
He rose on aching legs； and stumbled here and there among the
rubbish heaps； still circumvented by the yawning crater of
the quarry； or perhaps he only thought so； for the darkness
was already dense； the snow was growing thicker； and he moved
like a blind man； and with a blind man's terrors。 At last he
climbed a fence； thinking to drop into the road； and found
himself staggering； instead； among the iron furrows of a
ploughland； endless； it seemed； as a whole county。 And next
he was in a wood； beating among young trees； and then he was
aware of a house with many lighted windows； Christmas
carriages waiting at the doors； and Christmas drivers （for
Christmas has a double edge） becoming swiftly hooded with
snow。 From this glimpse of human cheerfulness； he fled like
Cain； wandered in the night； unpiloted； careless of whither
he went； fell； and lay； and then rose again and wandered
further； and at last； like a transformation scene； behold him
in the lighted jaws of the city； staring at a lamp which had
already donned the tilted night…cap of the snow。 It came
thickly now； a 'Feeding Storm'； and while he yet stood
blinking at the lamp； his feet were buried。 He remembered
something like it in the past； a street…lamp crowned and
caked upon the windward side with snow； the wind uttering its
mournful hoot； himself looking on； even as now； but the cold
had struck too sharply on his wits； and memory failed him as
to the date and sequel of the reminiscence。
His next conscious moment was on the Dean Bridge； but whether
he was John Nicholson of a bank in a California street； or
some former John； a clerk in his father's office； he had now
clean forgotten。 Another blank； and he was thrusting his
pass…key into the door…lock of his father's house。
Hours must have passed。 Whether crouched on the cold stones
or wandering in the fields among the snow； was more than he
could tell； but hours had passed。 The finger of the hall
clock was close on twelve； a narrow peep of gas in the hall…
lamp shed shadows； and the door of the back room … his
father's room … was open and emitted a warm light。 At so
late an hour； all this was strange； the lights should have
been out； the doors locked； the good folk safe in bed。 He
marvelled