the swan in dying," and the golden sun pours down its flood of rich,
warm light over all.

Three o'clock, and the express leaves Euston Square for Scotland at a
quarter past. The heat in the station is very great, the noise almost
deafening; huge engines are pouring out volumes of steam, the shrill
whistle sounds, porters are hurrying to and fro. The quarter-past three
train is a great favorite--more people travel by that than by any
other--and the platform is crowded by ladies, children, tourists,
commercial gentlemen. There are very few of the humbler class. Ten
minutes past three. The passengers are taking their places. The goddess
of discord and noise reigns supreme, when from one of the smaller doors
there glides, with soft, almost noiseless step, the figure of a woman.

She wore a long gray cloak that entirely shrouded her figure; a black
veil hid her face so completely that not one feature could be seen. When
she entered the station the change from the blinding glare outside to
the shade within seemed to bewilder her. She stood for a few moments
perfectly motionless; then she looked around her in a cautious, furtive
manner, as though she would fain see if there was any one she
recognized.

But in that busy crowd every one was intent on his or her business; no
one had any attention to spare for her. She went with the same noiseless
step to the booking office. Most of the passengers had taken their
tickets; she was one of the very last. She looked at the clerk in a
vague, helpless way.

"Where to, ma'am?" he asked, for she had only said, "I want a ticket."