The next moment the train came to a standstill at Penzance station.
She clung to the safety of the throng in passing through the barrier, fearing most the St.Fair wagonette which might be drawn up outside.

She was not known in Penzance, but the driver of the wagonette might recognize her.

But Mr.Crows, indifferent to shillings, had not yet arrived.

Sisily hurried past a group scanning the distant heights for the gaunt outline of the descending cab, like shipwrecked mariners on the look-out for a sail.
She reached the moor road by a short cut through, the back part of the town, and set out for Flint House in the velvety shadows of the early gloaming.
It had been raining, but the rain had ceased.

The sun, hidden through a long grey day, shone with dying brilliance in a patch of horizon blue, gilding the wet road, and making the wayside puddles glitter like mirrors.
A soddened little bird twittered joyfully in the hedge, casting a round black eye at her as she passed.