We should have laughed had it not been for the tragic eagerness with which she listened for our answer.  Mrs. Burston, for that was her name, was an aged widow, whose whole income depended upon a small holding of this stock.  Her life had been regulated by the rise and fall of the dividend, and she could form no conception of existence save as it was affected by the quotation of her shares.  In vain we pointed out to her that all the money in the world was hers for the taking and was useless when taken.  Her old mind would not adapt itself to the new idea, and she wept loudly over her vanished stock.  “It was all I had,” she wailed.  “If that is gone I may as well go too.”

Amid her lamentations we found out how this frail old plant had lived where the whole great forest had fallen.  She was a confirmed invalid and an asthmatic.  Oxygen had been prescribed for her malady, and a tube was in her room at the moment of the crisis.  She had naturally inhaled some as had been her habit when there was a difficulty with her breathing.  It had given her relief, and by doling out her supply she had managed to survive the night.  Finally she had fallen asleep and been awakened by the buzz of our motor-car.  As it was impossible to take her on with us, we saw that she had all necessaries of life and promised to communicate with her in a couple of days at the latest.  So we left her, still weeping bitterly over her vanished stock.

As we approached the Thames the block in the streets became thicker and the obstacles more bewildering.  It was with difficulty that we made our way across London Bridge.  The approaches to it upon the Middlesex side were choked from end to end with frozen traffic which made all further advance in that direction impossible.  A ship was blazing brightly alongside one of the wharves near the bridge, and the air was full of drifting smuts and of a heavy acrid smell of burning.  There was a cloud of dense smoke somewhere near the Houses of Parliament, but it was impossible from where we were to see what was on fire.

“I don’t know how it strikes you,” Lord John remarked as he brought his engine to a standstill, “but it seems to me the country is more cheerful than the town.  Dead London is gettin’ on my nerves.  I’m for a cast round and then gettin’ back to Rotherfield.”

“I confess that I do not see what we can hope for here,” said Professor Summerlee.

“At the same time,” said Challenger, his great voice booming strangely amid the silence, “it is difficult for us to conceive that out of seven millions of people there is only this one old woman who by some peculiarity of constitution or some accident of occupation has managed to survive this catastrophe.”

“If there should be others, how can we hope to find them, George?” asked the lady.  “And yet I agree with you that we cannot go back until we have tried.”