She was turning away, when she faced about upon the steps, gazing past
the woman who believed in her, along the passage beyond, an unspoken
question beneath the tears in her eyes.

"He is not here," said the landlady, quickly.

"But he did get over it?"

"So we hope; but he was at death's door that morning, and for days and
weeks. Now he's abroad again--I'm sure I don't know where."

Rachel said good-night, and this time the door not only shut before she
had time to change her mind again, but she heard the bolts shot as she
reached the pavement. The fact did not strike her. She was thinking for
a moment of the innocent young foreigner who had brought matters to a
crisis between her husband and herself. On the whole she was glad that
he was not in England--yet there would have been one friend.

And now her own case was really desperate; it was late at night; she was
famished and worn out in body and mind, nor could she see the slightest
prospect of a lodging for the night.

And that she would have had in the condemned cell, with food and warmth
and rest, and the blessed certainty of a speedy issue out of all her
afflictions.

It was a bitter irony, after all, this acquittal!

There was but one place for her now. She would perish there of cold and
horror; but she might buy something to eat, and take it with her; and at