A few minutes later she was wrapped up in the cloak, and feeling inexpressibly soothed and knowing that her disguise was now more effectual than ever, she dropped into an uneasy sleep. She slept for some time, and when she awoke again she found that the third-class compartment was full of people--a rough and motley crew--and that the two girls who had accompanied her into the carriage were both still present. One faced her; the other sat pressed up close to her side. It was the girl who had lent Annie the cloak who sat so near her. "Are you a bit better, miss?" she said when Annie had opened her startled blue eyes and tried to collect her scattered senses. "Oh yes," said Annie; "but I am thirsty," she added. "Suck an orange, then; do," said the girl. "They are a bit sour yet, but I bought some to-day for the journey." She immediately thrust her hand into a string bag and produced an unripe and very untempting-looking specimen of the orange tribe. Annie took it and said, "Thank you." "Lor' bless you," said the girl, "but your 'ands is 'ot!" "No, I am not hot at all," said Annie; "I am more cold than hot. Thank you so much for the orange. How kind you are!" The girl looked at Annie with great admiration and curiosity. Then she bent forward and whispered to her companion. They consulted together for a few minutes in low tones which could not possibly reach Annie's ears owing to the swift-going motion of the train. Then the girl who was seated opposite to Annie bent towards her and said: "Ain't you Miss Annie Brooke of Rashleigh Rectory?" This remark so took Annie by surprise and so completely upset her already tottering nerves that she gave a sudden cry and said in a sort of smothered voice: "Oh, please, please don't betray me!" The girl now nodded to her companion, and the girl who was seated close to Annie said in a low, soothing tone: "We ain't goin' to tell on yer, miss. If yer want to go up to town unbeknown to them as has the charge o' yer, 'tain't no affair o' ours. I'm Tilda Freeman, and that 'ere girl is Martha Jones. I am a Lunnon gel, and Lunnon bred, and I was down on a wisit to my friend Martha Jones. She's comin' up with me for a bit to see the big town. Be you acquainted with Lunnon, miss, and do you know its ways?" "No, I don't know London very well," said Annie. She had recovered some of her self-possession by this time. "You are mistaken in supposing," she continued, trying to speak in as cheerful a tone as she could, "that I am--am going away privately from my friends. I have lost my dear uncle, and am obliged to go to London on business."