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She hurried to Keston, caught an express for
London in Nottingham. She had to wait in Nottingham nearly an hour. A
small figure in her black bonnet, she was anxiously asking the porters
if they knew how to get to Elmers End. The journey was three hours. She
sat in her corner in a kind of stupor, never moving. At King's Cross
still no one could tell her how to get to Elmers End. Carrying her
string bag, that contained her nightdress, a comb and brush, she went
from person to person. At last they sent her underground to Cannon
Street.
It was six o'clock when she arrived at William's lodging. The blinds
were not down.
"How is he?" she asked.
"No better," said the landlady.
She followed the woman upstairs. William lay on the bed, with bloodshot
eyes, his face rather discoloured. The clothes were tossed about, there
was no fire in the room, a glass of milk stood on the stand at his
bedside. No one had been with him.
"Why, my son!" said the mother bravely.
He did not answer. He looked at her, but did not see her.


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