She caught her breath, and stooped her head, and ran swiftly, fiercely, madly, as though pursued by a pack of ravenous wolves. She fancied she heard the clatter of swift, relentless feet, the clamour of ruthless voices behind her ears. She imagined she felt the touch of claw-like hands upon her shoulder. She imagined she could see out of the corners of her eyes the foul fingers of her pursuers on her shoulder, on her sleeve! She thought she heard, felt, their breathings at her ears! She ran as for life from awful death.
All at once the figure of a man barred her way, blocked her path. With a cry of despair she stood still. The man seemed to be awaiting her approach. He moved a step towards her and said: "Beg pardon, miss. You need not run. There's plenty of time. The train does not start till six-fifteen, and it's only a quarter to six."
This was the friendly railway-porter of the night before. He had just stepped out of his lodging. She had failed to notice that she had left the reeking slum behind her, and was once more in the main street of the town.
She made a powerful effort and collected herself.
"Plenty of time, miss," said the man respectfully, "if you are going up to London by the six-fifteen." He waved his hand in the direction of the station.
"Thank you. I am much obliged to you. I--I did not wish to be late." Her breath was so short from running she spoke irregularly and with difficulty.
"I am going to open the station, miss. Would you like to sit in the waiting room?"
"Thank you. I would."
He drew aside and she passed him. He followed at a deferential distance.
In five minutes they stood on the platform. He opened the door of the waiting room. Then he paused and thought a moment. He turned to her and said, pointing to a line of carriages drawn up at the platform: "That's the train for London. You haven't to change until you get there. Are you going to Victoria or Ludgate?"