And, even before he heard a word they were saying, he knew by what he saw all that he wanted to know.
For the white-haired stranger, who was a handsome, well-preserved man of about sixty years of age or perhaps a little younger, was evidently laying down the law to Miss Davison, quietly but emphatically, speaking in such a low voice that not a word he uttered went beyond her ears, but so effectively that the girl, who was trembling as she stood with bent head before him, listened in absolute submissive silence to what Gerard felt must be directions, commands.
Not until their train came in with the usual rattle and roar, and the hurrying movement among the passengers began, did the white-haired man raise his voice. Then Gerard, from behind them, as they moved towards the train, caught these words uttered by Miss Davison in a tone of despair—
“Won’t you let me off? Haven’t I done enough?”
He did not hear the answer, but he heard a little faint moan from the girl, which told him that her request had been refused. Then he heard the man’s voice, as he whispered something quickly into the girl’s ear, and, raising his hat, immediately hurried on to a smoking carriage.
Left by herself, Miss Davison got into a first-class compartment, into which Gerard followed her. She went quickly to the extreme end of it, and sitting down with her back turned towards him, affected to be reading a letter.
But he knew very well that she could not see, that she was quietly shedding tears, and that, having heard him get in without guessing who he was, she had used the pretense of the letter so that, bending over it, she could dry her eyes furtively without, as she believed, being observed.
The train started, no other passengers having got in with them.
They stopped at the next station, and still Rachel had not moved. Gerard’s heart bled for her. He knew that she was miserable, that she was being coerced, that she was suffering tortures, which must be doubly keen to a woman as proud as she was, and that she was in such a position that she could not go for comfort or advice to any of her friends.
What the conditions were which the white-haired man had insisted upon with her, what the work was that he commanded her to do, he could not, of course, tell. But that there was something distasteful in the work, something shocking, terrible to her, in the task he had insisted upon her performing, was no longer open to question.