The vague feeling of uneasiness which had already attacked me
grew stronger. Although I fought against it, calling myself an
old woman and a coward, I must confess to an impulse which almost
made me beg the station-master's company on my walk; but, besides
being ashamed to exhibit a timidity apparently groundless, I was
reluctant to draw attention to myself in any way. I would not for
the world have it supposed that I carried anything of value.

"Well, there's no help for it," said I, and, buttoning my heavy
coat about me, I took my hand-bag and stick in one hand, and
asked my way to the hotel. My misfortunes had broken down the
station-master's indifference, and he directed me in a
sympathetic tone.

"Straight along the road, sir," said he, "between the poplars,
for hard on half a mile; then the houses begin, and your hotel is
in the first square you come to, on the right."

I thanked him curtly (for I had not quite forgiven him his
earlier incivility), and started on my walk, weighed down by my
big coat and the handbag. When I left the lighted station yard I
realized that the evening had fallen very dark, and the shade of
the tall lank trees intensified the gloom. I could hardly see my
way, and went timidly, with frequent stumbles over the uneven
stones of the road. The lamps were dim, few, and widely
separated; so far as company was concerned, I might have been a
thousand miles from an inhabited house. In spite of myself, the
thought of danger persistently assailed my mind. I began to
review every circumstance of my journey, twisting the trivial
into some ominous shape, magnifying the significance of