our room."

After some preparation the two men went upstairs, carrying the only
remaining light.

"Give me the candle. You had best go up to your attic in the dark. Here,
put this key in the girl's door and unlock it. She's quiet enough now.
Hush--! No; it was only the wind. Good-night--and mind what I say, don't
let that boy see you--and, listen, no liquor!"

CHAPTER XI.

The day had not yet dawned, and all lay still in that house when Mercy
Fisher opened noiselessly the door of her room and crept stealthily down
the stairs. It was very dark in the bar below, and she had no light. The
sickening odor of dead tobacco was in the air. She carried a little
bundle in one hand, and with the other she felt her way around the walls
until she came to the outer door. A heavy chain fastened it, and with
nervous fingers she drew it out of the slide. When free of its groove,
it slipped from her hand, and fell against the door-jamb with a clang.
The girl's heart leaped to her throat. At first she crouched in fear,
then lifted the latch, opened the door, and fled away into the gloom
without, leaving the door wide open.

Never to the last day of her life did she know what purpose guided her
in that hour. She had no object, no aim. Only to fly away from a broken
heart. Only to lie down on the earth and know no more, with all the
heartache over. But she was drifting in her blind misery to that
reservoir of life, London.

She hurried down the road, never once looking back. The leafless trees
were surging in the night-wind; their gaunt branches were waving grimly
over her head. The hedges took fantastic shapes before her, and beside
her. Her limbs trembled and her teeth chattered, yet she hastened on.
Her head ached. She felt suffocated. The world was so cruel to her. If
only she could fly from it and forget--only forget!

The day was dawning; the deep blue of the sky to the left of her was
streaked with thin bars. All before her was a blank void of dun gray. A
veil of vapor beat against her cheeks. The wide marshy lands lay in mist
around her. Not a sound but her own footstep on the road. Not a bird in
the empty air, not a cloud in the blank sky. It was a dreary scene;
neither day nor night.

And through this grim realm that is aloof from all that is human, one
poor, broken-hearted girl hurried on, her little bundle in her hand, a
shawl wrapped about her shoulders, her red, tearless eyes fixed in front
of her.

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