A shudder went through her at the recollection of it, a shudder of pity for the dog, not of apprehension for herself. She was too wretched to feel fear; but she was very weary and to some extent stupefied. When, therefore, she found herself in Portland Place instead of Covent Garden she was indifferent at having wandered in the wrong direction. She hardly met a soul. It was too late for night-prowlers and still too early for those who steal a march upon the day’s work. An occasional policeman was all she came across. One flashed his lantern in her face, but satisfied by the serious look on it and her appearance generally, took no further notice of her. It seemed to her that she had been walking interminably before the silence of the streets was broken by any sound of traffic. She had crossed the top of Regent Street, gone on due west by Cavendish Square and Wigmore Street, and was now in one of the turnings that give on Great Cumberland Place. At the corner a lighted doorway and an awning over the pavement told of a dance in progress. One or two carriages and a motor car were drawn up before the house. She did not look up as she passed it, but she slackened her pace when it was behind her, for she had heard the sound of a heavy vehicle. A slowly-moving van drawn by horses lumbered across the top of the turning. There surely she would find her _coup de grâce_! She stood in Great Cumberland Place, listening. The faint rumble of the morning traffic coming along Edgware and Bayswater Roads was audible now. Presently it was silenced by a nearer sound, the reverberation of machinery. It was coming at last. She kept on the edge of the pavement waiting and listening, trying to discern the advancing monster. The clank and rattle of it filled the wide street with stridulous echoes. She moved into the roadway, telling herself that she must make no mistake, give it no chance of avoiding her. She stood still, nerving herself for the moment of impact. It was very close now; its noise deafened her; a breath of hot metal filled her nostrils.... _Now!_ She stood poised, her body bent forward ready for the spring; and at that moment a heavy hand fell on her, jerked her roughly back and held her while the motor-lorry thundered by. "Let me go!" she muttered thickly, pulling ineffectually against a uniformed arm. "No, that I shan’t," was the firm rejoinder. "Trying to do for yourself, eh?" "I was crossing the road," she gasped, maddened by this second defeat. The stars in their courses seemed to be fighting against her. Why should they prevent her taking her worthless life? And now, to add to her inflictions, she was in the grip of a policeman. She would be charged, cautioned, watched, so that another attempt would be well-nigh impossible. Besides, she wanted to make it now, while the madness was upon her. "Crossing the road," she repeated. "Here comes a gentleman. He must have seen me. He’ll believe me, if you won’t."