himself in a rather wide open space. It was a piece of waste land not
built upon--probably the spot where Chesterfield Place now stands. The
houses ended there. He perceived the sea to the right, and scarcely
anything more of the town to his left.

What was to become of him? Here was the country again. To the east great
inclined planes of snow marked out the wide slopes of Radipole. Should
he continue this journey? Should he advance and re-enter the solitudes?
Should he return and re-enter the streets? What was he to do between
those two silences--the mute plain and the deaf city? Which of the two
refusals should he choose?

There is the anchor of mercy. There is also the look of piteousness. It
was that look which the poor little despairing wanderer threw around
him.

All at once he heard a menace.




CHAPTER V.

MISANTHROPY PLAYS ITS PRANKS.


A strange and alarming grinding of teeth reached him through the
darkness.

It was enough to drive one back: he advanced. To those to whom silence