She arose and went to the door and gained the garden beyond. He followed her to the gate. As she opened it he laid his hand upon her shoulder, where it felt like hot steel.
And he hissed into her ear—
“When the cup is full come to me.”
CHAPTER CLIV.
THE UNEXPECTED MEETING—LAURA AND MRS. GROVER.
We are again in London—it is night—the day’s work is over with many of the inhabitants of this mighty human hive. But there are thousands, however, whose work commences after dark. Journalists, reporters, printers, and those who minister to the pleasure of the public as entertainers, have each and all to ply their vocation after what are the recognised working hours of the great body of the people.
The doors of the theatres had opened for the second price; from the cafés, saloons, and taverns, of the Haymarket and its purlieus red lights began to gleam—hoarse voices to swear—and this fearful quarter, where, but a few years back, vice and debauchery reigned undisturbed, now began to fill with the votaries of vice and the victims of vanity—men who covered their natures of beasts with the garb of gentlemen—women, who, with sad gaiety and lurid smiles, walked, walked, and walked, in order that they might not starve.
In a dark street near Leicester-square two women met beneath a gas-light. Both started. One of them tried to pass. The other seized her.
“No, I must speak to you, Laura Stanbridge,” said the elder of the two.
The woman whom she addressed affected surprise.