“Where were you going now?” I asked.

“Well!” he replied, shaking the snow out of his long hair, “I was a-going to turn in somewheers.”

In those days there was a side-entrance to the stable-yard of the Golden Cross, the inn so memorable to me in connection with his misfortune, nearly opposite to where we stood. I pointed out the gateway, put my arm through his, and we went across. Two or three public-rooms opened out of the stable-yard; and looking into one of them, and finding it empty, and a good fire burning, I took him in there.