by dint asking her way more than once, of some of the very policemen whom she dreaded, sue found herself at last in the old, well-remembered neighborhood. she passed the door of the house where her mother had died and where she had been so happy with giles, and went on quickly to the other house where connie and harris lived. the house door stood open, as was its wont. sue mounted the stairs; with trembling hands she lifted the latch of harris's room. yes, as she had trusted, it was only on the latch. she stooped down, unfastened her shoes, and took them off; then she stole into the room. there were two bedrooms, besides a sitting-room, in harris's portion of the house. in one of the bedrooms slept harris, in the other his daughter, and in the little sitting-room lay the lame boy. thus sue found herself at once in the presence of her little brother. her heart beat high. how easily she had accomplished her purpose! how good god was to her! stealing over on tiptoes, she knelt down by giles. there was scarcely any light as yet; but a little streamed in from the badly curtained window. this little had sought out giles, and lingered lovingly round his delicate face and graceful head; he looked ethereal with this first soft light kissing him. sue bent down very close indeed. she dared not breathe on his face. she scarcely dared draw her own breath in her fear of waking him; but she took his gentle image more firmly than ever into her heart of hearts: it was to cheer her and comfort her during long, long months of prison life.
as she bent over him in an ecstasy of love and longing, giles stirred. instantly sue hid herself behind a curtain: here she could see without being seen.
the lame boy stirred again and opened his eyes. he looked peaceful; perhaps he had had a happy dream.
"i think sue 'ull soon now have found that cottage in the country," he said aloud. then he turned over and, still smiling, went to sleep again.
sue's eyes filled with tears. but the light was getting stronger; any moment harris might rise. though she would go to prison for harris, yet she felt that she could not bring herself to meet him. yes, she must go away with an added weight in her poor, faithful little heart. she stole downstairs, and out into the street. yes, it was very hard to bear the sight of giles, to hear those longing words from the lips of giles, and yet go away to meet unjust punishment for perhaps two long years.
still, it never entered into sue's head to go back from her resolve, or to save herself by betraying another.
her head was very full of bible lore, and she compared herself now to one of those three young men who had gone into a fiery furnace for the cause of right and duty.
"jesus christ wor with them, jest as he'll be with me," she said to herself as she crossed westminster bridge. yes, brave little girl, you were to go through a fiery furnace, but not the one you thought was being prepared for you.
sue's trouble, swift and terrible, but in an unlooked-for form, was on her even now. just as she had got over the bridge, and was about to cross a very wide thoroughfare, some lumbering wagons came thundering up. they turned sharp round a corner, and the poor child, weak and giddy from her morning's most unwonted exertion, suddenly found herself turning faint. she was in the middle of the crossing, the wagons were upon her, but she could not run. she had scarcely time to throw up her arms, to utter one piercing cry of terror, before she was thrown to the ground. she had a horrible sensation of her life being crushed out of her, of every bone being broken; then followed peace and unconsciousness.
one of the wagons had gone partly over her; one leg was broken. she was carried to the accident ward at st. thomas's hospital close by.
