She could not account for the impulse which led her to purchase a ticket and take her place in a second-class carriage for London. She had no idea what she should do when she reached her destination. It was a rest to sit alone in the carriage--a luxury to close the tired eyes, and say to herself that she had no more to do, for Claude was saved; yet, when her eyes were closed, so many strange scenes flashed before them, that she opened them with a terrified cry. It seemed to her that she was too tired even to rest, and that the aching pains in her limbs grew worse, her eyes burned, and her head throbbed with pain. Yet through it all--through fatigue and pain--there was the great relief that Claude was saved. Of Adrian she dared not think. She knew that this "fiery sorrow" was waiting for her when she should regain strength and calmness, when she could look it in the face; as it was, she shrunk, sick and shuddering, from it. She put it from her. She would have none of it. If she had then remembered all about Adrian Darcy, she would have gone mad and nothing would have saved her. The train sped on. When she dared not keep her eyes closed any longer, she watched the fields and trees as the train whirled by. It was strange how mingled were her thoughts; at one time she was at Queen's Chase, sitting with Lady Vaughan in the silent rooms; at another she was with Claude in the faint rosy morning dawn, and the murdered woman was lying under the hedge; then she was with Adrian by the waterfall, and he was telling her, that he should love her for evermore; then she stood beside a green grave in a country churchyard, over which the foliage of a large tree drooped--beneath was a stone with the inscription, "Hyacinth Vaughan--aged eighteen." From all these mingled dreams and visions she woke with a terrible scream. "If I cannot sleep," she thought to herself, "I shall go mad." Then everything went black before her eyes, her head fell back, and she knew no more until loud, strange voices shouted "Euston Square." She was in the great Babylon at last. So young, so lovely, so simple in her child-like innocence; alone, unprotected, unknown in the streets of that great city: having neither home nor friends--having neither brain nor mind clear--what was to save her? She left the carriage and sat for some time on one of the seats on the platform; the same heaviness, the same strange mixture of past and present confused her. "I must sleep," she said to herself--"I must sleep or I shall go mad." She rose and walked out of the station. What a labyrinth of streets, squares, and houses! Where could she find rest? Suddenly across the bewildered mind came one clear thought. "I have money, and I must take lodgings--I can pay for them; and, in a room of my own, I can sleep until my brain is clear."