ask questions; she only lay down on the bed and cried as usual.
"Jane," I said, in a little, "if I were you, I'd run away as well."
"I will," she cried out, starting up, "I will this very night! We'll
go out together." It was my turn to ask her if _she_ had anywhere to
go to. She said she knew a girl who lived in a good home at
Tottenham, and who'd do something for her, she thought. At any rate
she'd rather go to the workhouse than stay where she was. So, about
one o'clock, we both crept out by a back way, and ran into Edgware
Road. There we said good-bye, and she went one way, and I another.

"All that night I walked about, for fear of being noticed loitering
by a policeman. When it was morning, I had come round to Hyde Park,
and, though it was terribly cold--just in March--I went to sleep
on a seat. I woke about ten o'clock, and walked off into the town,
seeking a poor part, where I thought it more likely I might find
something to do. Of course I asked first of all at eating-houses,
but no one wanted me. It was nearly dark, and I hadn't tasted
anything. Then I begged of one or two people--I forgot everything
but my hunger--and they gave me a few coppers. I bought some
bread, and still wandered about. There are some streets into which I
can never bear to go now; the thought of walking about them eight
years ago is too terrible to me. Well, I walked till midnight, and
then could stand up no longer. I found myself in a dirty little
street where the house doors stood open all night; I went into one,
and walked up as far as the first landing, and there fell down in a
corner and slept all night."

"Poor child!" said Waymark, looking into her face, which had become
very animated as the details of the story succeeded each other in
her mind.