Evening star., 1925-03-15
Continued from Yesterdays Starr

She wrote steadily, town after town.
name after name. More towns. more
names. AS she finished each sheet, she
checked it very carefully by its original.
It was a weary, monotonous work; but
the weariness and the monotony were
like grey curtain which hung between
her and something which she dreaded
inexpressibly.
The idea of descending into the pas
sage again, of creeping up to the
laboratory in order TO put back the lists
before they were missed, filled her with
shuddering repugnance. To allow her
mind to dwell upon this idea was to
become incapable OF carrying ii out.
She therefore held her attention firmly
to the endless names, and drove an in
dustrious pen. She had to get up twice
for more ink Each time, she
stretched herself and walked the few
PAGES to the table and back, the
thought vs--1o to her like a cold breath,
ITS coming nearer"
At last in the dead stiffness of the
sleeping hours, the lists were finished.
She pinned the copies on TO the cup
board ceiling in the game way that
she had pinned the OF Stnals, carefully
covered with a piece of ;Artridge paper
Then she took the originals in her hand
and faced the necessity for action. Her
feet and hands were very cold. She
felt as if 1t were days since she had
had anything to eat. She wanted most
dreadfully to go to bed and sleep. She
wanted to have good cry. What she
had to do was to go down into slug
and possibly rat haunted passages and
risk waking an anarchist uncle out
of his beauty sleep. Jane gave herself
a mental shake.
Don't be rabbit, Jane Smith," she
said. IT'S got to be done. You know
that just as well as do. If it's got to
be done, you can do 1t. Get going at
once"
She got going. First she put the lists
back in her stocking top. Then she
put on the old serge dress. Her fancy
played hopefully with the thought that
some day she would give herself the
pleasure OF burning that abominable
garment. She extracted the maroon
felt slippers from the paper parcel to
which she had consigned them. They
were still sopping. She put them on
They felt limp. damp, and discouraging,
but they had the merit of making no
noise. Then she took up good length
of candle and a box of matches and
opened her door.
We'll, here goes said Jane, and
stepped into pitch darkness. This time
she shut the door behind her. AS she
took her hand off the handle she felt
as If she were letting go of her last
hold on safety, an idiotic thought, as
she instantly told herself. She knew
by now just how many PAGES took one
to the place where the light should
have been burning, and just how many
more to the stairhead. The rose window
showed like a pattern painted on the
dark. 1t gave no light, but it marked
the position of the door.
Jane felt the soles of her feet stick
and cling to the damp slippers as she
crawled down stairs. They just didn't
squelch and that was all; they only
felt like 1t.
She hated moving the big chair in the
dark, but it had to be done. Suppose
she dropped IL with crash, suppose she
pulled Willoughby Luttrelrs picture
down when she was feeling for the
catch; suppose a mouse ran over her
foot-there is no end to the cheerful
suppositions which will throng ones
brain in circumstances like these.
Jane did not drop the chair with a
crash, neither did Willoughby Luttrell's S
picture fall down, nor did a mouse run
over her foot. She passed through the
paneled door, shut 1t behind her,
CROPPED her way to the foot of the
steps, and lighted the candle. 1t was