“It would be very pleasant,” she said.  “I know no one in London.  I expect to be alone a great deal.  You live in London?” she asked.

“As much there as anywhere,” I answered.  “I have never settled down since I sent in my papers.”

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“I was badly knocked about at Ladysmith,” I answered, “and I could not get round in time.  I haven’t altogether finished soldiering, though,” I added.  “At least, I hope not.”

“But where do you call your home, then?” she asked timidly.

“I am not one of those fortunate persons who possess one,” I answered.  “I spend a great deal of time in Norfolk with my brother, and I have just a couple of rooms in town.”

The train had slackened speed.  All around us was a wide-spreading arc of yellow lights.  The clearness had gone from the atmosphere.  The little current of air which came in through the half-open window was already murky and depressing.

“It is London?” she asked.

“We shall be there in ten minutes,” I answered, looking out.

She leaned over and waked her uncle.  He sat up drowsily.

“We shall be there in ten minutes,” she said.

“So soon!” he answered.  “Do you know on which side we arrive, sir?” he asked me.

“On your side,” I answered.

He rose to his feet, and commenced to wrap a scarf around his neck.

“You will be smothered,” the girl remarked.

“I am cold,” he answered, in a low tone.  “I am always cold after I have crossed the Channel.  Besides, it is the damp air.  You, too, will find it so in London, Felicia.  You must be careful.”

Already he was peering out of the window into the darkness.  I could not help wondering whether it was sea-sickness alone which was responsible for his haggard features, for that grim look of covert fear which seemed to have settled around his mouth and eyes.  To me he seemed like a man who is about to face the unknown, and who fears!

The train began to slacken pace.  We drew into the station.  I noticed that a man was standing by himself at this remote end of the platform, and that as we passed he seemed to look intently into our carriage.

“Can I be of any service to you?” I asked the girl, as I collected my small belongings.  “I suppose, though, that your uncle is used to the journey.”

She glanced towards the man opposite.  He turned to me, and I found his appearance almost terrifying.  He seemed to be suffering from more than physical sickness.

“I thank you, sir,” he said rapidly.  “You could, if you would, be of immense service.”

“I should be delighted,” I answered.  “Tell me in what way?”

“I am exceedingly ill,” the man said, with a groan.  “I suffer from heart attacks, and the crossing has altogether upset me.  If you could remain with my niece while our luggage is examined, and send her afterwards to the Milan Hotel, you would do a real favor to a sick man.  I could myself take a hansom there without waiting for a moment, and get to bed.  Nothing else will do me any good.”