"This is Stringhampton Junction; we can cross here to the northern road, as you originally intended," explained Anne, rapidly. "All the additional expense I will pay. Dear mademoiselle, have pity on me, and come. Else I shall go alone."
The voice was eloquent; Jeanne-Armande rose. Anne hurried her through the almost empty car toward the rear door.
"But where are we going?"
"Out of the light," answered Anne.
They climbed down in the darkness on the other side of the train, and Anne led the way across the tracks at random, until they reached a safe country road-side beyond, and felt the soft grass under their feet.
"Where are we going?" said the Frenchwoman again, almost in tears. "Monsieur Heathcote—what will he think of us?"
"It is from him I am fleeing," replied Anne. "And now we must find the cross-road train. Do you know where it is?"
"It is, or should be, over there," said Jeanne-Armande, waving her umbrella tragically.
But she followed: the young girl had turned leader now.