Then Mrs. Holtby brought out the time-table, and looked out her train. There was one that left Deepfields at 2.30, and she told her to get her dinner at once, and not to wait till the others came in, so that she might be off in time to catch it.
"Don't hurry back, Miss Douglas," she said, when Marjorie looked in to say good-bye. "Stay as long as ever you like."
So, with the box wrapped in paper and tightly held in her hand, and with the card in which Captain Fortescue had given her slipped inside her glove, Marjorie set off for Deepfields.
It was a pouring wet day, and the mud was, if possible, worse than usual, but she hardly noticed it. She would have gone through a perfect flood without minding it, in her intense eagerness to get to her journey's end. How glad he would be to get that letter! How thankful he would feel that it was found at last!
But would he be glad and thankful? As she sat in the train a horrible fear crossed her mind. What if she were bringing him bad tidings? What if she were indeed what he had called himself—a bird of ill omen? She hoped not, she prayed not; but how could she tell?
Arrived at Birmingham, she found herself in all the bewilderment of New Street station at one of its most crowded moments. She took out the card, and looked at it once more—"156, Lime Street," that was the address. How should she find it? She asked a porter, who was wheeling a barrow of luggage, but he said he had never heard of it.
Then she went up the steps to the bridge, and felt in a perfect whirl as the busy crowds rushed past her. Hundreds of strange faces—all of them intent on their own business, and none of them having a moment to spare for hers: all these she saw as if she were in a dream. Which way should she turn at the top of the bridge? There seemed to be two exits to the station. Which should she take? She went to the one to which most people seemed to be going. It took her out into Corporation Street. All looked strange to her. She had no eyes for the beautiful shops; the Arcade failed to tempt her as she passed it. All she wanted was to get to her journey's end.
At last she met a policeman, and found from him that she was walking in the wrong direction. He sent her back almost to the station, and told her to take a turning to the left, and to walk on until she saw a large church, and then she must ask for further direction.
The rain was now coming down in torrents, and a strong wind was blowing in her face, but she struggled on bravely against it. She found the church at last, and went into a small shop to ask her way. Again she set forth, and walked on for another mile, and, after getting wrong once or twice, and stopping to inquire many times of the passers-by, she at last reached the street that she was seeking.
Lime Street was long and dismal-looking, with two rows of houses facing each other, all exactly alike, and all standing close to the pavement, with not even a pretence to a front garden. The street looked, if possible, more gloomy than usual that afternoon; in the merciless rain everything was wet, dirty, and uninviting.