She started and coloured, and sat upright with all haste and began searching quickly, anxiously, despairingly. Her memory up to the moment of giving the money to the friendly porter was perfect. After that all was dim until all became blank in sleep. She could not clearly recollect the man's giving her the ticket. She remembered a dull sensation in her hand, as though she had felt him thrust the ticket into it, and she remembered a still duller sensation of peace and ease, as though she believed all was right till her journey's end. Then came complete oblivion. She was now burning with confusion and dismay.
"Ticket, please, the train is waiting."
"I--I can't find my ticket."
"Pray, try. The train is waiting."
"I cannot find it."
The collector said nothing, but made a sign, and entered the compartment. The train moved on. "Try your pockets well, miss," said the collector civilly; "you are sure to find the ticket. You had one, of course?"
She tried her pocket and stood up and looked around her. Misfortunes came thick upon her. She had but just escaped from Eltham House, had thrown up her situation, had been wandering about the country all the morning, and now was back in London without a ticket or a sixpenny piece! People were sent to prison for travelling without a railway ticket. She had slept nothing last night, was she to spend this night in gaol? She sat down in despair.
"Indeed, I cannot find it." She was white now, and the trembling with which she had been seized on finding her loss had gone. She was pale, cold, hopeless, indifferent.
"Where did you come from?"
"Millway. I got in at Millway. The porter said he would get my ticket for me. I gave him all the money I had, only enough for the ticket, and----"