“Beg pardon, sir,” to Captain Waring, “but there is a lady quite alone in my charge. I can’t take her on; I must stay and see to the baggage, and remain here. And would you look after her?”
“Where is she?” demanded Waring, irritably.
“Last carriage but one—reserved ladies, first-class.”
“I say, Mark,” turning to his friend, “if she is a reserved lady, you are all right. He is awfully shy, this young fellow,” he explained to his other companions, with a loud laugh. “I don’t mind betting that she is old—and you know you are fond of old women—so just run back like a good chap. You see, I have Mrs. Bellett and her sister—you won’t be five minutes behind us, bring on the reserved lady as fast as you can.”
The other made no audible reply, but obediently turned about, and went slowly past the rows of empty carriages until he came nearly to the end of the train. Here he discovered a solitary white figure standing above him in the open door of a compartment, and a girlish voice called down into the dark—
“Is that you, guard?”
“No,” was the answer; “but the guard has sent me to ask if I can help you in any way.”
A momentary pause, and then there came a rather doubtful “Thank you.”
“Your lamp has gone out, I see, but I can easily strike a match and get your things together. There is a block on the line, and you will have to get down and walk on to the next station.”
“Really? Has there been an accident? I could not make out what the people were saying.”