reasoned away. He did not feel repulsion for the poor wanderer, or fear
of him; he felt rather a growing attraction--in part curiosity, in part
pity, in part desire for whatever it might be that had brought the look
of joyous expectancy into the aged face. This look had faded now to some
extent. The old man stood still, as one who had lost his way, not
seeking for indications of that which he had lost, but looking right
forwards and upwards, steadily, calmly, as if sure that something would
appear.

Trenholme laid a strong hand upon his arm. "Cameron!" he shouted, to see
if that name would rouse him. The arm that he grasped felt like a rock
for strength and stillness. The name which he shouted more than once did
not seem to enter the ears of the man who had perhaps owned it in the
past. He shook off Trenholme's hand gently without turning towards him.

"Ay," he said. (His voice was strong.) Then he shook his head with a
patient sigh. "Not here," he said, "not here." He spoke as deaf men
speak, unconscious of the key of their own voice. Then he turned
shuffling round the table again, and seemed to be seeking for the door.

"Look here," said Trenholme, "don't go out." Again he put his hand
strongly on his visitor, and again he was quietly brushed aside. The
outside seemed so terribly cold and dark and desolate for this poor old
man to wander in, that Trenholme was sorry he should go. Yet go he did,
opening the door and shutting it behind him.

Trenholme's greatcoat, cap, and snow-shoes were hanging against the
wall. He put them on quickly. When he got out the old man was fumbling
for something outside, and Trenholme experienced a distinct feeling of
surprise when he saw him slip his feet into an old pair of snow-shoes