passing cab, and told the
man to take her to Charing Cross Station. She was not familiar with
London--and Charing Cross was the only great railway terminus she could
just then think of.

Arrived there, the glare of the electric light, the jostling passengers
rushing to and from the trains, the shouts and wrangling of porters and
cabmen, confused her not a little,--and the bold looks of admiration
bestowed on her freely by the male loungers sauntering near the doors of
the restaurant and hotel, made her shrink and tremble for shame. She had
never travelled entirely alone before--and she began to be frightened at
the pandemonium of sights and noises that surged around her. Yet she
never once thought of returning,--she never dreamed of going to any of
her London friends, lest on hearing of her trouble they might reproach
Philip--and this Thelma would not have endured. For the same reason, she
had said nothing to Britta.

In her then condition, it seemed to her that only one course lay open
for her to follow,--and that was to go quietly home,--home to the
Altenfjord. No one would be to blame for her departure but herself, she
thought,--and Philip would be free. Thus she reasoned,--if, indeed, she
reasoned at all. But there was such a frozen stillness in her soul--her
senses were so numbed with pain, that as yet she scarcely realized
either what had happened or what she herself was doing. She was as one
walking in sleep--the awakening, bitter as death, was still to come.

Presently a great rush of people began to stream towards her from one of
the platforms, and trucks of luggage, heralded by shouts of, "Out of the
way, there!" and "By'r leave!" came trundling rapidly along--the tidal
train from the Continent had just arrived.

Dismayed at the increasing confusion and uproar, Thelma addressed
herself to an official with a gold band round his hat.

"Can you tell me," she asked timidly, "where I shall take a ticket for
Hull?"

The man glanced at the fair, anxious face, and smiled good-humoredly.

"You've come to the wrong station, miss," he said. "You want the Midland
line."

"The Midland?" Thelma felt more bewildered than ever.

"Yes,--the _Midland_," he repeated rather testily. "It's a good way from
here--you'd better take a cab."

She moved away,--but started and drew herself back into a shadowed
corner, coloring deeply as the sound of a rich, mellifluous voice, which
she instantly recognized, smote suddenly on