His being an old-fashioned conveyance, with a yellow front, it was easily recognizable, and on the third night after she saw it a second time.

The man alongside was, as she had fancied, Sam Hobson, formerly gardener at Gaymead, who would at one time have married her.
She had occasionally thought of him, and wondered if life in a cottage with him would not have been a happier lot than the life she had accepted.

She had not thought of him passionately, but her now dismal situation lent an interest to his resurrection--a tender interest which it is impossible to exaggerate.

She went back to bed, and began thinking.

When did these market-gardeners, who travelled up to town so regularly at one or two in the morning, come back?
She dimly recollected seeing their empty waggons, hardly noticeable amid the ordinary day-traffic, passing down at some hour before noon.
It was only April, but that morning, after breakfast, she had the window opened, and sat looking out, the feeble sun shining full upon her.