It was cold too, but neither did he mind that.

He was warm.

As he walked up and down in the empty street before the long building his heart was warmed with a glow which had not been there for many and many a long year.

He was not alone.

Once more the memory of other Christmases passed through his mind in long processional, but now not stamped with irretrievable opportunity, to mock him with vain regret for lost happiness; only tinged with a sadness for lost friends who came trooping about him; yet lightened by his resolve to begin from now on and strive as best he might to retrieve his wasted life, and whilst he bore his punishment do what he could to make atonement for his past.
Just then across the town the clocks began to sound the midnight hour, and as they ceased, from somewhere far-away church bells mellowed by the distance began to chime the old Christmas hymn:-- _"While shepherds watched their flocks by night, All seated on the ground, The angel of the Lord came down, And glory shone around."_ Livingstone stood still to listen, in a half-dream.
Suddenly before him in the snow stood a little figure muffled in a shaggy cape with hood half thrown back.