crowned my own sad-coloured cloak. When the alterations in our attire were completed, I proposed a joint breakfast upon the remaining threepence in my pocket. This offer she accepted after some demur, and accordingly we made our way to a coffee stall standing just outside the Park gates, where, after partaking of coffee and bread and butter, we parted— I to return hopelessly to the Park, whilst she steadfastly set her face towards Westminster in accordance with her grim desire "to be getting on towards Surrey."

A few hours later I was aroused from the lethargic state into which I seemed to have passed by a jovial looking gentleman of middle age stopping short at the bench I had chosen, and suspending for a moment the cheery whistling of which I had been dimly conscious. He looked at me a little keenly, and then said, as he thrust sixpence into my hand: "Here, my girl, you look as if you want something to warm you." Then, nodding kindly, he walked quickly on, whilst I, dazed and bewildered, but hysterically thankful for the timely assistance shown by a complete stranger, broke down and shed the first tears my bitter pilgrimage had known.

But after that I have no very distinct recollection of anything that happened. Hunger and exposure, to both of which I was yet a stranger, had perhaps in some degree dulled my senses. Sometimes I watched the people passing, and sometimes I was living over again every tedious detail of my life at St. Lawrence's, until at last I was not sure whether

I was in the Hospital picturing the Park, or in the Park thinking of the Hospital. Then they both seemed to be dreams, strange, grey, misty dreams— with people in them-always people coming and going, laughing and talking, never still, never unhappy, nor cold, nor hungry. Sometimes the dreams altered, and I was spending the precious sixpence I had just received; but when or where I actually did spend it, or what I bought except that I am sure it was something to eat-I shall never know. But when the Spring evening began to close in, I was no longer in the Park. I was in the streets again, walking towards somewhere with a definite purpose in view a purpose that had grown gradually, imperceptibly, as the day had waned. I was tired and footsore, but I could not rest, for it was a long, long way that I must go. And so, walking, stumbling, limping, or staggering, I still pressed forward, always, always on, and always towards that one goal-one street in that bewildering labyrinth of streets-one house that would stand out from a row of houses exactly similar. With a last and mighty effort the haven was reached, there was a long and despairing wrench at the shining knob marked "Night Bell," and a tottering, trembling, and wretched creature crouched in the portico and fell, as the door was opened, a huddled and fainting heap at the feet of the Rev. James Claverton.

CHAPTER VIII

LOST!

MR. CLAVERTON's first act was characteristic. Without a word, he softly closed the front door, and then, picking me up, half-led and half-carried me into the study, where he deposited me in a low and cushioned basket-chair standing by the glowing fire. Then he quickly produced a decanter of sherry from its customary and retired position behind the Concordance, and pouring out a wine-glassful, said, authoritatively

"Drink it right down, and don't attempt to talk until you feel better."

I silently obeyed, and then leaned wearily back amongst the cushions, whilst Mr. Claverton, in the arm-chair on the opposite side of the fireplace, regarded me with evident perplexity. Presently he said

"Whatever is that on your head? I hardly knew

you."

"It's a hat," I said, wearily; "and it belongs to a girl I talked to in the Park last night. No, I don't know who she was. I expect she's dead now. When

we parted this morning she was going on to Surrey to drown herself."

For a moment the Vicar seemed too much amazed to speak. Then he gasped, disjointedly

"What in the world are you talking about? And where on earth have you been-and what have you been doing?"

"I've run away from St. Lawrence's," I said. "I hated it, and I hated the Hospital and the patients too, and I hated Sister Keziah worst of all. And no one would take me in at any other hospital, though I am sure I went to half the places in London. And I hadn't enough money to pay for any lodging, so I had to stop in the Park all last night. You don't know how awful that was. I've been there all today, and every bone in my body aches, and I'm stiff all over. And-and-don't send me away again, Mr. Claverton! Let me stop here by the fire for a little while I haven't been warm for two days, and I'm tired to death and nearly starved besides!"

"Is it so bad as that?" he said, kindly, as I paused. "Well, sit here quietly till I come back," and he went out of the room, whilst I, succumbing to the seductive warmth such a welcome contrast to the piercing cold outside-contentedly leaned back again amongst the yielding cushions, far too much exhausted to know or to care what was to happen next. Beyond a drowsy sense of physical comfort I was conscious of nothing until Mr. Claverton spoke again. He had returned with a steaming bowl which he placed upon a little table now drawn up to my chair, and

though I now wanted nothing save to be left alone, I swallowed the soup with mechanical obedience, whilst the Vicar brought in additional rugs and cushions and pulled the couch up before the fire.

"You had better lie down here," he suggested, as I put down the spoon and wearily closed my eyes again. "It will be more comfortable, so perhaps you may sleep a little."

I tried to obey, but now the actual necessity for action was past, the reaction had set in, and my limbs refused to move. He picked me up and carried me to the sofa, arranged the rugs and made up the fire, and then went quietly from the room. I must have fallen asleep immediately, for I remember nothing further until I awoke with a start and the paralysing fear that I had dropped asleep whilst on duty. Then the half-awakened brain struggled back to conscious intelligence, with a swift recollection of the previous night spent under the cloud-swept heavens, a damp mist penetrating my clothes and chilling me through and through. I opened my eyes in apprehension-a feeling that changed quickly to intense relief as they fell upon the luxurious study bathed in a warm red glow. As I stirred, the Vicar moved in his arm-chair and said

"Feeling better now? You've been asleep nearly two hours."

"I've had a glorious sleep, and I feel almost myself again, thank you. Supposing I hadn't thought of coming to you, I should have had simply nowhere to go."