yielding to an uncontrolled, an uncontrollable impulse of love, and,
though her brain was active with the cunning of the slums, had not the
least idea of combatting it, or letting anything less strong than
actual death would be in its deterrent force, prevent her from obeying
the swift impulse to the very end. She had not taken any of her
mistress' money, when she fled. Her only sin, she told herself, was
leaving without notice. She had only made a little bundle of her own
worn, scanty, extra clothes, which, now, was tied about her waist and
hung beneath the skirt she wore. There were not many of those clothes,
so the dangling bundle did not discommode her when she dodged behind
the cab, ran beside it (on the far side from the lodging-house) till
it turned a corner, and then sought her perch upon its springs
behind. In her mouth were seven golden sovereigns, the hoard of her
whole lifetime, barring some small silver and an Irish one-pound note
stowed in her left stocking. Her right stocking had been darned till
it was nowise to be trusted with one-eighth of her whole wealth. She
had no dimmest thought of whither she was bound; she only knew that
she would go, if Fate permitted, wherever Anna went, to serve her.

Arrived at the confusion of the railway station known as Waterloo,
Herr Kreutzer helped his Anna from the cab, paid the cabman from his
slender store of silver, hired a porter with another shilling to take
all their luggage to the train and went to get their third-class
railway tickets, keeping, meanwhile, a keen eye for anyone who looked
to be a German of position, and noting with delight that in the crowd
not one pair of moustaches stuck straight up beside its owner's nose.
Slinking after him, at a slight distance, but near enough to hear
quite all he said, came M'riar, and, when he had passed on, bought for
herself a third-class ticket to Southampton. Her keen eyes fixed upon
the backs of the two folk with whom, without their knowledge, she had