the pane, though I literally could not see one inch before that classical feature.
"Well, I'm so tired, I shall go to sleep, whatever happens, and you can wake me up when it is time to scream or run," said M, settling herself for a doze.
I groaned dismally, and registered a vow to spend all my substance in future on the most elegant and respectable broughams procurable for money, with a gray-haired driver pledged to temperance, and a stalwart footman armed with a lantern, pistol, directory, and map of London.
All of a sudden the cab stopped; the driver, not being a fixture, descended, and coming to the window, said, civilly,—
"The fog is so thick, mum, I'm not quite sure if I'm right, but this is Colville Square."
"Don't know any such place. Colville Gardens is what we want. There's a church at the end, and trees in the middle, and "—
"No use, mum, describin' it, for I can't see a thing. But the Gardens can't be far off, so I'll try again."
"We never shall find it, so we had better ask the man to take us at once to some station, work-house, or refuge till morning," remarked M, in such a tone of sleepy resignation that I shook her on the spot.
Another jaunt up and down, fog getting thicker, night later, one woman sleepier and the other crosser every minute, but still no haven hove in sight. Presently the cab stopped with a decided bump against the curb-stone, and the driver reappeared, saying, with respectful firmness,—
"My horse is beat out, and it's past my time for turning in, so if this ain't the place I shall have to give it up, mum."
"It is not the place," I answered, getting out with the calmness of despair.
"There's a light in that house and a woman looking out. Go and ask her where we are," suggested M, waking from her doze.
Ready now for any desperate measure, I rushed up the steps, tried vainly to read the number, but could not, and rang the bell with the firm determination to stay in that house till morning at any cost.
Steps came running down, the door flew open, and I was electrified at beholding the countenance of my own buxom landlady.
"My dear soul, where 'ave you been?" she cried, as I stood staring at her, dumb with surprise and relief.
"From the Crystal Palace to Greenwich, I believe. Come in, M, and ask the man what the fare is," I answered, dropping into a hall chair, and feeling as I imagine Robinson Crusoe did when he got home.
Of course that civil cabby cheated me abominably. I knew it at the time, but never protested; for I was so glad and grateful at landing safely I should have paid a pound if he had asked it.
Next day we were heroines, and at breakfast alternately thrilled and convulsed the other boarders by a recital of our adventures. But the "strong-minded Americans" got so well laughed at that they took great care never to ride in hansom cabs again, or get lost in the fog.
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