Fan looked at her, puzzled and surprised at the question. “But you say she sent for me to shut me up because she hated me, and never wished to see me again.” “Yes, my dear, that's quite right what I told you. But what are you going to do in London? Where will you go to sleep to-night? Here's your bag you'd forgotten all about; if you go and forget it you'll have no clothes to change; and perhaps you'll lose yourself in London, and when they ask you where you belong, you'll let them take you to Miss Starbrow's house.” The woman in her anxiety was quite voluble; while Fan slowly turned it all over in her mind before replying. “My head is paining so, I was forgetting. But I shan't lose my bag, and I'll find some place to sleep to-night. No, I'll never, never go back to Mary--to Miss Starbrow.” “And you'll be able to take care of yourself?” “Yes; will you let me go now?” “Come then, I'll put you in your train with your bag; and don't you go and speak to anyone about what happened here, and then you'll be quite safe. Let Miss Starbrow think you are shut up safe out of her sight, and then she won't trouble herself about you.” “There's no one I can speak to--I have no one,” said Fan, mournfully; after which they went on to the station, and she was put into her train with her bag, and about three o'clock in the afternoon arrived at Westbourne Park Station. There were clothes enough in her bag to last her for some time with those she was wearing, and money in her purse--two or three shillings in small change and the sovereign which had been in her possession for several months. Food and shelter could therefore be had, and she was not a poor girl in rags now, but well dressed, so that she could go without fear or shame to any registry office to seek an engagement. These thoughts passed vaguely through her brain; her head seemed splitting, and she could scarcely stand on her legs when she got out of the train at Westbourne Park. It would be a dreadful thing if she were to fall down in the streets, overcome with faintness, she thought, for then her bag and purse might be stolen from her, or worse still, she might be taken back to the house of her cruel enemy. Clinging to her bag, she walked on as fast as she could seeking for some humble street with rooms to let--some refuge to lie down in and rest her throbbing head. She passed through Colville Gardens, scarcely knowing where she was; but the tall, gloomy, ugly houses there were all too big for her; and she did not know that in some of them were refuges for poor girls--servants and governesses out of place--where for a few shillings a week she might have had board and lodging. Turning aside, she came into the long, narrow, crooked Portobello Road, full of grimy-looking shops, and after walking a little further turned at last into a short street of small houses tenanted by people of the labourer class.