Then a voice groaned, "Oh my God!" and the footsteps hurried on.
Jeffreys had seen misery in many forms go past him before, but something impelled him now to rise and follow the footsteps of this wanderer.
The plashing rain drowned every sound, and it was with difficulty that Jeffreys, weak and weary as he was, could keep pace with the figure flitting before him, for after that glance over the bridge the fugitive no longer halted in his pace, but went on rapidly.
Across the bridge he turned and followed the high banks of the canal.
Then he halted, apparently looking for a way down.

It was a long impatient search, but at last Jeffreys saw him descend along some railings which sloped down the steep grass slope almost to the towing- path.
Jeffreys followed with difficulty, and when at last he stood on the towing-path the fugitive was not to be seen, nor was it possible to say whether he had turned right or left.
Jeffreys turned to the right, and anxiously scanning both the bank and the water, tramped along the muddy path.
A few yards down he came upon a heap of stones piled up across the path.
Any one clambering across this must have made noise enough to be heard twenty yards away, and, as far as he could judge in the darkness, no one had stepped upon it.

He therefore turned back hurriedly and retraced his steps.
The sullen water, hissing still under the heavy rain, gave no sign as he ran along its edge and scanned it with anxious eyes.
The high bank on his left, beyond the palings, became inaccessible from below.

The wanderer must, therefore, be before him on the path.
For five minutes he ran on, straining his eyes and ears, when suddenly he stumbled.

It was a hat upon the path.
In a moment Jeffreys dived into the cold water.