On this particular night, when she left her lodgings in Wilkinson Street, she drove to Waterloo Station. She had some minutes to spare, and went into the waiting-room. Here the only object that met her eye was the unusual one of a well and quietly dressed girl of good appearance fast asleep in one of the corners of the public waiting-room. She drew near and looked at the sleeper. Even in sleep there was an expression of pain and weariness upon the girl's face. But, being worn out, she slept soundly.
"She'll lose her train as sure as fate is fate," said the sympathetic widow, drawing still nearer, and putting her hand softly on Marion's arm. "I beg your pardon, my dear," she said, shaking her softly.
Marion did not wake at once.
"My dear, my dear, you will lose your train. Where are you going? Wake up!"
"Ah," said Marion, opening her eyes and looking into the kindly face above her, "I--I am not going by train anywhere."
"Then you must have been a long time asleep. Do you know it's ten o'clock?"
"Yes, I know it is ten o'clock. I have been only a few minutes here. I was very tired, and when I sat down I fell asleep."
"But, child, this is no place for a young girl to fall asleep. Are you waiting here for anyone?"
"No."
"Then allow me to advise you to go home. This is not at all a proper place for a young girl to fall asleep in. What would people, uncharitable people, say if they saw you?"