They would walk back to the part of
London that they knew. From there they would make their inquiries,
those inquiries which were to land them in France. In their old
quarters, perhaps in their old home, they might get lodgings.
Walking straight on, Cecile asked every policeman she met to direct
them to Bloomsbury, but whether the police were careless and told
them wrong, whether the distance was too great, or whether Cecile's
little head was too young to remember, noon came, and noon passed,
and they were still far, far away from the court where their father
and stepmother had died.
CHAPTER II.
"A NIGHT'S LODGINGS."
Soon after noon, Cecile, Maurice, and Toby sat down to shelter and
rest themselves on a step under the deep porch of an old church. The
wind had got up, and was very cold, and already the bright morning
sky had clouded over.
There was a promise of snow in the air and in the dull sky, and the
children shivered and drew close to each other.
"We won't mind looking any longer for our old court to-day,
Maurice," said Cecile. "As soon as you are rested, darling, we'll go
straight and get a night's lodging. I am afraid we must do it as
cheap as possible, but you shan't walk any more to-day."
To all this Maurice, instead of replying in his usual grumbling
fashion, laid his head on his sister's lap, and dropped off into a
heavy sleep. His pretty baby face looked very white as he slept, and
when Cecile laid her hand on his cheek it was cold.
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