“Is the turnpike man looking out?” she asked.

He was not looking out; no one else was near the place when we passed through the gate.  The sight of the gas-lamps and houses seemed to agitate her, and to make her impatient.

“This is London,” she said.  “Do you see any carriage I can get?  I am tired and frightened.  I want to shut myself in and be driven away.”

I explained to her that we must walk a little further to get to a cab-stand, unless we were fortunate enough to meet with an empty vehicle; and then tried to resume the subject of Cumberland.  It was useless.  That idea of shutting herself in, and being driven away, had now got full possession of her mind.  She could think and talk of nothing else.

We had hardly proceeded a third of the way down the Avenue Road when I saw a cab draw up at a house a few doors below us, on the opposite side of the way.  A gentleman got out and let himself in at the garden door.  I hailed the cab, as the driver mounted the box again.  When we crossed the road, my companion’s impatience increased to such an extent that she almost forced me to run.

“It’s so late,” she said.  “I am only in a hurry because it’s so late.”

“I can’t take you, sir, if you’re not going towards Tottenham Court Road,” said the driver civilly, when I opened the cab door.  “My horse is dead beat, and I can’t get him no further than the stable.”

“Yes, yes.  That will do for me.  I’m going that way—­I’m going that way.”  She spoke with breathless eagerness, and pressed by me into the cab.

I had assured myself that the man was sober as well as civil before I let her enter the vehicle.  And now, when she was seated inside, I entreated her to let me see her set down safely at her destination.

“No, no, no,” she said vehemently.  “I’m quite safe, and quite happy now.  If you are a gentleman, remember your promise.  Let him drive on till I stop him.  Thank you—­oh! thank you, thank you!”

My hand was on the cab door.  She caught it in hers, kissed it, and pushed it away.  The cab drove off at the same moment—­I started into the road, with some vague idea of stopping it again, I hardly knew why—­hesitated from dread of frightening and distressing her—­called, at last, but not loudly enough to attract the driver’s attention.  The sound of the wheels grew fainter in the distance—­the cab melted into the black shadows on the road—­ the woman in white was gone.

Ten minutes or more had passed.  I was still on the same side of the way; now mechanically walking forward a few paces; now stopping again absently.  At one moment I found myself doubting the reality of my own adventure; at another I was perplexed and distressed by an uneasy sense of having done wrong, which yet left me confusedly ignorant of how I could have done right.  I hardly knew where I was going, or what I meant to do next; I was conscious of nothing but the confusion of my own thoughts, when I was abruptly recalled to myself—­awakened, I might almost say—­by the sound of rapidly approaching wheels close behind me.