4 o'clock
A thin shawl coveres her shoulders and a battered black bonnet hangs back from her head . Her iron-grey hair is streaming over her face , still damp with the falling snow . `` Did you wish to speak to me '' asks Helen kindly advancing to the woman . `` I do mum '' replies the poor creature , dropping a bob-curtsey as she speaks , `` I 've bin tramping from Huntsdown since 4 o'clock and bin nearly turned back with the snow . '' `` What is your name , '' enquires Helen . `` Mrs. Cotton , if you please mum '' answers the woman , `` but to get on with my story , you must know I live at `` The Jolly Dutchman '' in Huntsdown . My husband keeps the inn , but he dont do much bussiness ; the place is so remote-like , and I 'm afraid he 's a bad lot , '' and here Mrs. Cotton shook her head regretfully `` but to come to the point mum , a week or so ago , a poor man all ragged and looking terribly ill , come to the door and asked if we could let him in to sleep the night , as he 'd no were to go and no money .