Rescued.
[CHAPTER XIII.]
A COLLISION.
THEY were nearing Woodleigh fast. The last preceding station lay in their rear, and the next stoppage would mean home.
Joan had been for some time sitting upright in her cushioned seat, trying to make out the features of the country through deepening nightshades. Ghostly white telegraph posts flashed past at regular intervals, but little else was visible. Still Joan gazed on, her brows bent with a look of intense gravity.
George Rutherford sat opposite, making believe to read a newspaper by lamplight, but in reality watching Joan. He could not decipher her thoughts. It was something unusual for her to be so absorbed as to remain unconscious of his scrutiny.
Dulcibel and Nessie, tired with the long day’s journey, were comfortably ensconced in the two farther corners of the compartment, both sound asleep. The seats between were empty.
“Father,” Joan said at length abruptly, turning her face towards him, “I wonder if—”
“Yes, my dear—” as she came to a pause.
“No; I think I’ll ask you by-and-by,” Joan answered, flushing.