Would she escape, or would she be stayed before she could take her place?
It might have been thought that she would feel, if not betray, some excitement; but no; she stood motionless, not even seeming to hear the coming train: it was as though she were moved by some power independent of her own will.
There was the ringing of the bell, the altering of a distance signal, and the train gliding up to the platform, as a farming-looking man drew the attention of another to a gentleman running swiftly a quarter of a mile down the road.
“He’ll be too late, safe.”
“Ah!” said the other. “And they won’t wait for him; for they’re very particular here since the row was made about the accident being through the bad time-keeping of the trains.”
“Look at him, how he’s waving his hat!” said the first speaker. “He’s running too, and no mistake. Why, it’s that dandy swell fellow that’s staying at Linton’s, where his wife’s ill.”
“Serve him right too,” said the other. “Why wasn’t he in better time? Those swells are always behindhand.”
“Now then, all going on!” cried a voice; and the two men stepped into a second-class carriage, against the door of which, and looking towards the booking-office, Ella was already seated, cold, fixed, and apparently perfectly insensible to what was going on.
“Cold day, miss,” said the man who took his seat opposite to her; but there was no reply, and the next moment the man’s attention was caught by what took place at the booking-office door.
Max Bray dashed panting up as the guard sounded his whistle, but only to find the glass door fastened, when, evidently half wild with excitement, he beat at the panels, gesticulating furiously as he saw the train begin slowly to move, and Ella seated at one window.