followed him back to Moon Street, which they reached at about half-past
twelve.




CHAPTER III


Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday passed sadly and slowly enough, and at five
o'clock on the evening of the last day Fan was told at St. Mary's--that
Margaret Harrod was dead. During those three miserable days of suspense
she had spent most of her time hanging about the doors of the hospital,
going timidly at intervals to inquire, and to ask to be allowed to see
her mother. But her request was refused. Her mother was suffering from
concussion of the brain, besides other serious injuries, and continued
unconscious; nothing was to be gained by seeing her.

Without a word, without a tear, she turned away from the dreary gates and
walked slowly back to Moon Street; and at intervals on her homeward walk
she paused to gaze about her in a dazed way, like a person who had
wandered unknowingly into some distant place where everything wore a
strange look. The old familiar streets and buildings were there, the big
shop-windows full of cheap ticketed goods, the cab-stand and the
drinking-fountain, the omnibuses and perpetual streams of' foot-
passengers on the broad pavement. She knew it all so well, yet now it
looked so unfamiliar. She was a stranger, lost and alone there in that
place and everywhere. She was walking there like one in a dream, from
which there would be no more waking to the old reality; no more begging
pence from careless passers-by in the street; no more shrinking away and