enly the thought
flashed into her mind that she would go and find out poor Mr. Frank. She
had been hardly kind to him the night before, though her heart had bled
for him ever since. She remembered his telling her as she inquired for
his address, almost as she had pushed him out of the door, of some hotel
in a street not far distant from Euston Square. Thither she went: with
what intention she hardly knew, but to assuage her conscience by telling
him how much she pitied him. In her present state she felt herself unfit
to counsel, or restrain, or assist, or do ought else but sympathise and
weep. The people of the inn said such a person had been there; had
arrived only the day before; had gone out soon after his arrival, leaving
his luggage in their care; but had never come back. Norah asked for
leave to sit down, and await the gentleman's return. The landlady--pretty
secure in the deposit of luggage against any probable injury--showed her
into a room, and quietly locked the door on the outside. Norah was
utterly worn out, and fell asleep--a shivering, starting, uneasy slumber,
which lasted for hours.

The detective, meanwhile, had come up with her some time before she
entered the hotel, into which he followed her. Asking the landlady to
detain her for an hour or so, without giving any reason beyond showing
his authority (which made the landlady applaud herself a good deal for
having locked her in), he went back to the police-station to report his
proceedings. He could have taken her directly; but his object was, if
possible, to trace out the man who was supposed to have committed the
robbery. Then he heard of the discovery of the brooch; and consequently
did not care to return.

Norah slept till even the summer evening began to close in. Then up.
Some one was at the door. It would be Mr. Frank; and she dizzily pushed
back her ruffled grey hair, which had fallen over her eyes, and stood
looking to see him. Instead, there came in Mr. Openshaw and a policeman.

"This is Norah Kennedy," said Mr. Openshaw.

"O, sir," said Norah, "I did not touch the brooch; indeed I did not. O,
sir, I cannot live to be thought so badly of;" and very sick and faint,
she suddenly sank down on the ground. To her surprise, Mr. Openshaw
raised her up very tenderly. Even the policeman helped to lay her on the
sofa; and, at Mr. Openshaw's desire, he went for some wine and
sandwiches; for the poor gaunt woman lay there almost as if