Setting down the basket at the corner of a neighbouring street, the men went back to see what else could be thus rescued. Evarne sat on her box and waited. Her umbrella was lost. The rain was still pouring down steadily, persistently; along the gutters the water rushed in torrents, the skies and the earth were alike enveloped in damp obscurity. No living being appeared; indeed, practically the only sign of the existence of mankind was the feeble jet of the street lamp, which reflected its gleam in the wet pavement as in a lake. So long did the girl wait, that, despite the discomfort of her unique situation, she fell into a sort of vague reverie, and a curious feeling of abstraction from her own personality crept over her. Was it really she indeed--Evarne Stornway--who was out here in the middle of the night in this drenching rain, seated in solitary misery upon the box containing all her worldly possessions, at some unknown street corner of a small town in Scotland? Unreasonably enough, it appealed to her as a most extraordinary thing that _she_ should be the individual chosen out of all humanity to be thus strangely circumstanced this night. She was aroused by hearing her name shouted in the distance. In response to her answering call a couple of figures appeared, and Mont's voice said-- "Couldn't find this blessed corner again in the mist. Jess has sent down a message that she's gone to supper with Joe, and will you come too? You had better. There's always a nice fire there of an evening, and you look soaked through." "I only look what I am, then. Certainly I'll go, if Jess is there. What about my box?" "Brown and I will carry it round to Mrs. Sargeant's and tell her you'll both be late. Do you know your way to our diggings?" "I don't know where I am now, one bit." Mont explained, and Evarne accordingly hurried off through the downpour. On reaching her destination she was received with cheers. Most of the company seemed gathered in Mrs. Shiells's kitchen. The house itself was let out in tenements, and theatrical lodgings were obtainable on practically every floor. Thus all the actors were residing in the one building, and the kitchen of good-natured Mrs. Shiells was the general rendezvous. In due course Mont and Brown returned, and with them came news of fresh complications. Madame Cheape had gone! She had been back to her room, packed up all her belongings and taken them with her, leaving behind only the assurance that the other young ladies had the money for her rent. Mrs. Sargeant had evidently been drinking again, but not to the point of forgetting the piano. It belonged to her daughter, it seemed; it had been lent without its lawful owner's leave, and if it was not in its place when that daughter returned at eleven, Mrs. Sargeant contemplated being half-slaughtered by her offspring, whose temper, when aroused, she described as "enough to make the 'air stand up on your 'ead." "Oh dear! I forgot the piano," faltered Jess.