She was so engrossed
that she failed to notice a woman who passed her, and then, with an
astonished stare, turned back. A heavy hand fell on her wrist.
"Cecilia!"
She turned, with a little cry. Mrs. Rainham's face, inflamed with sudden
anger, looked into her own. The hard grasp tightened on her wrist.
"What are you doing here, you wicked girl? You've run away."
At the moment no speech was possible to Cecilia. She twisted her arm
away fiercely, freeing herself with difficulty, and turning, ran, with
her stepmother at her heels. Once, Mrs. Rainham gasped "Police!" after
which she required all the breath to keep near the flying girl. The
street was quiet; only one or two interested passers-by turned to
look at the race, and a street urchin shouted: "Go it, red 'ead--she's
beatin' yer!"
It follows naturally, when one person pursues another through city
streets, that the pursued falls under public suspicion and is liable to
be caught and held by any officious person. Cecilia felt this, and her
anxiety was keen as she darted round the corner into the next street,
looking about wildly for a means of escape. A big van, crawling across
the road, held Mrs. Rainham back for a moment, giving her a brief
respite.
Just in front of her, a block in the traffic was beginning to move. A
taxi was near her. She held up her hand desperately, trying to catch the
driver's eye.
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