“Oh, nonsense! You are too fast.”
“Not a minute,—begging your pardon. My brother stays at the dépot, and keeps my watch with the railroad time.”
Salome went to the dining-room, gave Stanley his dinner, and, anxious to escape observation, shut herself in the dim, cold parlor, where she paced the floor until the cuckoo jumped out, chirped three times, and, as if frightened by the girl’s fixed eyes, fluttered back inside the clock. More than an hour behind time! Now, beyond all hope or doubt, there had been an accident! Loss of sleep for several consecutive nights, and protracted anxiety concerning Miss Jane, had so unnerved the orphan that she was less able to cope successfully with this harrowing suspense than on former occasions; still the sanguine hopefulness of youth battled valiantly with the ghouls that apprehension conjured up, and she remembered that comparatively trivial occurrences had sometimes detained the train, which finally brought all its human freight safely to the dépot.
The day had been very cold and gloomy; and thick, low masses of smoke-colored cloud scudded across the chill sky, whipped along their skirts by a stinging north-east blast into dun, ragged, trailing banners. Despite the keenness of the air, Salome opened one of the parlor windows and leaned her face on the broad sill, where a drizzling rain began to show itself. She had read and heard just enough with reference 115 to the phenomena of clairvoyance to sneer at them in happy hours, and to recur helplessly to the same subject with a species of silent dread when misfortune seemed imminent. To-day, as Miss Jane’s delirious utterances haunted every nook and cranny of her excited brain, permeating all topics of thought, she recalled many instances, on legendary record, where the dying were endowed with talismanic power over the secrets of futurity. Could it be possible that Miss Jane had really seen what was taking place many miles distant? Reason shook her hoary head, and jeered at such childish fatuity; but superstitious credulity, goaded by an intense anxiety, would not be silenced nor put to the blush, but boldly babbled of Swedenborg and burning Stockholm.
Once she had heard Dr. Grey tell his sister, in answer to some inquiry concerning the arcana of mesmerism, that he had bestowed much time and thought upon the investigation of the subject, and was thoroughly convinced that there existed subtle psychological laws whose operations were not yet comprehended, but which, when analyzed and studied, would explain the remarkable influence of mind over mind, and prove that the dread and baffling mysteries of psychology were merely normal developments of intellectual power instead of supernatural or spiritual manifestations.
This abstract view of the matter was, however, most unsatisfactory at the present juncture; and the current of Salome’s reflections was abruptly changed by the sound of the locomotive whistle,—not the prolonged, steady roar, announcing arrival, but the sharp, short, shrill note of departure. Soon after, the clock struck four, and, ere the echoes fell asleep once more in the sombre corners of the quiet parlor, Dr. Sheldon drove up to the front door and entered the house. Springing into the hall, Salome met him, and laid her hand on his arm.
“Salome, your face frightens me. How is Miss Jane? Has she grown worse so rapidly since I was here this morning?”
“I see little change in her. But you have locked bad news behind your set teeth. Oh, for God’s sake, don’t torture 116 me one second longer! Tell me the worst. What has happened?”
“The down-train was thrown from an embankment twenty feet high, and the cars took fire. Many lives have been sacrificed, and it is the most awful affair I ever heard of.”
He had partially averted his head to avoid the sight of her whitening and convulsed features; but, laying her hands heavily upon his shoulders, she forced him to face her, and her voice sank to a husky whisper,—