“It’s as much as we shall do to catch this train,” remarked her companion, as they at length gained the valley.
“There is a train now just passing,” exclaimed Evereld.
“Not ours, I daresay,” said Bruce Wylie, “no,” looking at his watch reassuringly, “it’s not due for another ten minutes. We shall do it all right, don’t be anxious.”
“There, we are punctual to the minute,” he remarked, as they drew up at the station, “and no train is here. Ha! what’s that you say?” he added, as an old porter came leisurely up to them. “The train gone? Why, it’s only now due.”
The porter explained, with many gesticulations, that the Monsieur’s watch was ten minutes slow.
“How annoying,” said Bruce Wylie, “when is the next train for St. Maurice and Territet?”
“There are no more this evening, monsieur,” said the porter. “Monsieur will find many good hotels in Vernayaz.”
Bruce Wylie made a well feigned ejaculation of annoyance.
“The others will have seen that we were not there,” said Evereld, springing out of the carriage, “I will run and look for Janet;” but she returned forlornly in a minute, for Janet was not there.
“I think she might have waited,” said the girl, indignantly.