He found himself at the harbor, staring with wild and bloodshot eyes at the _Proserpine,_ he who, an hour ago, had seen that he had but one thing to do--to try and forget young Wardlaw's bride.

He groaned aloud, and ran wildly back into the town.

He hurried up and down one narrow street, raging inwardly, like some wild beast in its den.
By-and-by his mood changed, and he hung round a lamp-post and fell to moaning and lamenting his hard fate and hers.
A policeman came up, took him for a maudlin drunkard, and half-advised, half-admonished, him to go home.
At that he gave a sort of fierce, despairing snarl and ran into the next street to be alone.
In this street he found a shop open and lighted, though it was but five o'clock in the morning.

It was a barber's whose customers were working people.

HAIRCUTTING, SIXPENCE.