She stole up to the house.
The blinds were down, and it was in darkness, otherwise all was as she
remembered it only too well. Her breath came quickly. It was a strange
trick her feet had played her, bringing her here against her will! Yet
she had thought of coming as a last resort. The furnished house should
be hers for some months yet; it had been taken for six months from July,
and this was only the end of November. At the worst--if no one would
take her in--
She shuddered at the unfinished thought; and yet there was something in
it that appealed to Rachel. To go back there, if only for the shortest
time--to show her face openly where it was known--not to slink and hide
as though she were really guilty! That might give her back her
self-respect; that might make others respect her too. But could she do
it, even if she would? Could she bring herself to set foot inside that
house again?
Rachel felt tremulously in her pocket; there had been more keys than
one, and that which had been in her possession when she was arrested
was in it still. Nobody had asked her for it; she had kept it for this;
dare she use it after all? The street was still empty; it is the
quietest little street in Chelsea.
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