I was passing Charing Cross Station, delayed by the streams of
vehicles issuing forth, when in a hansom at a little distance I saw a
form--a face--which made me start and tremble, and turn hot and cold,
and red and white, all at the same time. It could not be Jack. It
ought not, must not, should not be Jack. Had I not to act in
suffering and despair to-night? Well, even if he had returned in
safety from his cruise it was without a thought of me in his heart.
He was engaged--married--for aught I knew. It was possible, nay,
certain, that I should never see him again.

And yet I ran all the way home. And yet I told the servant
breathlessly--"If any visitors call I do not wish to be disturbed."
And yet I made my mother repeat the promise she had given me the
previous night. Then I flew to my den at the top of the house; bolted
myself in, and set a chair against the door as if I were afraid of
anyone making a forcible entry. I stuffed my fingers in my ears, and
went over my part with vigour, with more noise even than was
absolutely necessary. Still, how strangely I seemed to hear every
sound. A hansom passing--no, a hansom drawing up at our house. I went
as far from the window as possible. I wedged myself up between the
sofa and the wall, and I shut my eyes firmly. Surely there were
unaccustomed sounds about, talking and laughing, as if something
pleasant had happened. Presently heavy footsteps came bounding up,
two steps at a time. Oh! should I have the courage not to answer if
it should be Jack?

But it was not. Kitty's voice shouted--

"Sybil, Sybil, come down. Here's----"