“I will go by the back, please,” Cecily said, standing up. “No, thank you, Mrs. Wye, I really can't eat any more. And I will write and let you know how my father is in a day or two.”
She made her escape from the loquacious housekeeper with a little more difficulty, and sped quickly on to the path pointed out to her, clutching the precious handbag tightly to her side. She almost ran along the footpath in her anxiety to reach the station and was delighted to find herself there with a quarter of an hour to spare. She bought her ticket and then ensconced herself in the waiting-room in a corner so that she could watch the approach to the station and find out whether the old beggar was on her track.
As soon as the train was signalled she went out on the platform, and managed to find a seat in an empty carriage. It did not remain empty long, however. There were more people waiting for the train than she had expected. Evidently the 6.30, slow though it might be, was popular in Burford. The carriage, a corridor one, was soon full. Cecily took her seat by the window, clutching her handbag closely to her, and winding the cord tightly round her wrist. Opposite to her was a young, smart-looking man, who showed a desire to get the window to her liking which was distinctly flattering. Next to him sat a young woman, very pale and delicate-looking. Beyond her again was an elderly woman apparently of the respectable lodging house keeper type. The other seats were occupied by a couple of working men, one with his bag of tools on his shoulder. Cecily, after one look round, decided that she was certainly safe here. She had brought a pocket edition of Keats's poems with her, and she took it out now and, opening the book at “Isabella and the Pot of Basil,” was soon deep in it.
The man opposite was reading, the old lady beside him was sleeping, the two working men were staring at the flying landscape with uninterested, lack-lustre eyes, half-open mouths and one hand planted on each knee. Cecily after her unwonted exercise in the open air felt inclined to sleep herself, but she remembered the contents of her bag and resolutely resisted the inclination of her eyelids to droop. Still she was feeling pleasantly drowsy when they ran into the long tunnel between Rushleigh and Fairford. The man opposite her put down his paper and leaned across her to draw up the window with a murmured “Excuse me.”
At the same moment the light went out. There was a chorus of exclamations, a shriek from the old lady beside Cecily, something very like a swear word from the man opposite. In a trice he had lighted a match and held it up. “It is not much of a light,” he said apologetically, “but it is better than nothing and I have plenty to last to the end of the tunnel.”
Then he uttered a sharp exclamation. Cecily's eyes followed his. She saw that the old lady next her had slipped sideways, the pretty apple colour in her cheeks had faded, that the pendulous cheeks had become a sickly indefinite grey. The man in the corner dropped his match and lighted another. He moved up the seat and struck another.
“She has fainted,” he announced. “In itself that is not serious, but I am a doctor and I should say she has heart trouble. She certainly ought not to travel alone.”
Already they were getting through the tunnel. Cecily felt the old lady lurch against her and lie like a dead weight against her arm. The girl put out her other hand and held the helpless form tightly. As the light spread the doctor leaned over and felt the woman's pulse.
“She must be laid flat,” he said briefly. “Will you help me?” He beckoned to the man at the other end, and between them they raised the woman, and laid her down. Cecily unfastened a scarf that was twisted tightly round the flabby neck. The doctor's quick, capable fingers produced a pair of scissors from a case and cut down the woolen jumper in front, then from a handbag he produced a tiny phial. From this he poured just one drop into the poor woman's mouth, while Cecily by his directions fanned her vigorously with a sheet of newspaper. By and by they were rewarded by signs of returning consciousness, and presently the patient opened her eyes and gazed round questioningly at the strange faces. Then she began to sit up and try to pull her jumper together with shaking fingers.
“Did I faint?” she asked tremulously. “I—I know it all went dark, and then I don't remember any more.”