Mr Holt looked as if he was in somebody else’s garments.  He was so thin, and worn, and wasted, that the suit of clothes which one of the men had lent him hung upon him as on a scarecrow.  I was almost ashamed of myself for having incurred a share of the responsibility of taking him out of bed.  He seemed so weak and bloodless that I should not have been surprised if he had fainted on the road.  I had taken care that he should eat as much as he could eat before we started—­the suggestion of starvation which he had conveyed to one’s mind was dreadful!—­and I had brought a flask of brandy in case of accidents, but, in spite of everything, I could not conceal from myself that he would be more at home in a sick-bed than in a jolting cab.

It was not a cheerful drive.  There was in Sydney’s manner towards me an air of protection which I instinctively resented,—­he appeared to be regarding me as a careful, and anxious, nurse might regard a wrong-headed and disobedient child.  Conversation distinctly languished.  Since Sydney seemed disposed to patronise me, I was bent on snubbing him.  The result was, that the majority of the remarks which were uttered were addressed to Mr Holt.

The cab stopped,—­after what had appeared to me to be an interminable journey.  I was rejoiced at the prospect of its being at an end.  Sydney put his head out of the window.  A short parley with the driver ensued.

’This is ’Ammersmith Workhouse, it’s a large place, sir,—­which part of it might you be wanting?’

Sydney appealed to Mr Holt.  He put his head out of the window in his turn,—­he did not seem to recognise our surroundings at all.

’We have come a different way,—­this is not the way I went; I went through Hammersmith,—­and to the casual ward; I don’t see that here.’

Sydney spoke to the cabman.

‘Driver, where’s the casual ward?’

‘That’s the other end, sir.’

‘Then take us there.’

He took us there.  Then Sydney appealed again to Mr Holt.

‘Shall I dismiss the cabman,—­or don’t you feel equal to walking?’

’Thank you, I feel quite equal to walking,—­I think the exercise will do me good.’

So the cabman was dismissed,—­a step which we—­and I, in particular—­had subsequent cause to regret.  Mr Holt took his bearings.  He pointed to a door which was just in front of us.

’That’s the entrance to the casual ward, and that, over it, is the window through which the other man threw a stone.  I went to the right,—­back the way I had come.’  We went to the right.  ’I reached this corner.’  We had reached a corner.  Mr Holt looked about him, endeavouring to recall the way he had gone.  A good many roads appeared to converge at that point, so that he might have wandered in either of several directions.

Presently he arrived at something like a decision.

‘I think this is the way I went,—­I am nearly sure it is.’