When she got to London, she went straight to a street she had been told of, north of Oxford Street, well known for cheap lodgings. She took a furnished bedroom at the top of a dingy house, and then next day she returned to Euston Station to fetch her luggage, which she had left at the parcels-office there, for fear of the extra expense of driving about in a cab with it, in case she should have any difficulty in finding a suitable lodging. She was on foot; and, as she entered the station, a hansom passed her with a young man in it who quite startled her by his likeness to Harry. The resemblance was so strong that she stopped, half inclined to turn back and walk about for a little while, in case it should be, indeed, her husband, so that he might have left the station before she got there. But then she reasoned with herself that Harry was in Leicestershire, and was expected at Garstone to-day, even if he were not already there; so that she decided to go boldly on. Another feeling impelled her forward--an unacknowledged hankering for a last sight of her husband, or even for a look at the man who so strongly resembled him. Annie did not love her husband--she had never really loved him; and since Christmas she almost hated him. But, now that she had left him forever, and that too without any farewell, a natural inconsistency prompted her to try to steal a last look at the handsome lad who had been her lord and master. So she went into the station, and, leaving her luggage for future consideration, looked about cautiously for the man she had seen in the hansom. He was not to be seen about the ticket offices, and, growing bolder, she slipped in and out among the groups of people on the platform. A train was about to start for the North. Still with caution, but attracted in spite of herself toward that train, which, as she knew, would stop at Beckham, Annie advanced until she was nearly opposite to the doors of the refreshment-room. They opened, and a young man came out. Annie stopped, with the color rushing to her face; for it was Harry. He looked so handsome in his light traveling-suit, with his overcoat hanging loosely over his arm, that she felt quite proud of him, and stood there with her eyes fixed upon him, half hoping that he would turn and see her. But he did not, for he was gazing eagerly in the opposite direction--so eagerly that he risked being left behind, as the carriage doors were being closed. Annie’s eyes followed his, and found that the object of his evident admiration was a showily-dressed woman with bold eyes and impossibly yellow hair, who was tottering along the platform in boots which had long slender pegs instead of heels. With a sigh of disgust, Annie turned away. It was years before she saw her husband again. CHAPTER XI.