To some constitutions the motion of the cars is a sedative, particularly at night, when darkness and drowsiness help the effect. This was the case with Harcourt in his weakened condition.
As the hours of the night passed on he dozed, dreamed, woke up, and dozed again, until at length his slumber grew deeper, and he slept until the train reached Washington, at six o’clock on that dark March morning.
He had intended to take the train immediately for West Virginia and go directly to Logwood and Lone Lodge cabin to see his mother, but on finding himself in Washington an irresistible longing seized him to go down to Snowden and get news of Roma.
Without stopping to get breakfast he hastened to change cars, and was soon en route for Southern Maryland.
The close of the day brought him to the little seaside town.
He was known there only as the late hotel clerk, and not at all as the sometime suitor for the hand of the heiress of the Isle of Storms.
He walked from the depot to the village hotel, and entered the barroom.
The landlord, who was on duty there, instantly recognized him, and rose to greet him.
“Ah! How do you do, sir? How do you do? You are a great stranger here. And yet I have been looking for you a long time, too,” he said, offering his hand, and heartily shaking that of the young man.
“Looking for me?” inquired Harcourt.