I listened to his words in indignation and astonishment. "Nobody
believed in you!" I repeated. "Why, _I_ always believed in you, you know
that I--"

Then I paused, remembering our "candid criticism" of one another.

"Did you?" he replied quietly, "I never heard you say so. Good-night."

In the course of our Strandward walking we had come to the neighbourhood
of the Savoy, and, as he spoke, he disappeared down one of the dark
turnings thereabouts.

I hastened after him, calling him by name, but though I heard his quick
steps before me for a little way, they were soon swallowed up in the
sound of other steps, and, when I reached the square in which the chapel
stands, I had lost all trace of him.

A policeman was standing by the churchyard railings, and of him I made
inquiries.

"What sort of a gent was he, sir?" questioned the man.

"A tall thin gentleman, very shabbily dressed--might be mistaken for a
tramp."

"Ah, there's a good many of that sort living in this town," replied the
man. "I'm afraid you'll have some difficulty in finding him."

Thus for a second time had I heard his footsteps die away, knowing I
should never listen for their drawing near again.