“I could not touch anything.”
“But you have no wrapper or rug,” said the superintendent.
“No, I came in a great hurry.”
“You must let me lend them to you,” continued the superintendent; “and, excuse me, you have given me all your money. You had better keep the gold; you are sure to want some change.”
He handed him back the cash, and Tom took it mechanically.
“I cannot thank you now,” he said, in a choking voice. “Some day I may.”
“I hope so, sir,” said the superintendent cheerily; “and that the young lady will come and thank me too.”
“Heaven grant she may!” Tom said, with quivering lip; and he turned away to hide his emotion, while the superintendent turned back to his office, leaving Tom walking up and down the platform, where the lamps quivered in the night breeze, and the whole place looked ghostly, dim, and cold.
Away to the side the station was bright and busy, for from there started the local traffic; and trains, with people from the theatres and places of amusement, left from time to time for the various suburban villages of the south-east of London; but where he stood all was shadowy, and in keeping with his terrible journey.
“There, sir—slip that on,” said the superintendent. “Here’s a rug, too, and my flask, with some brandy and biscuits in one of the pockets of the ulster. You’ll find it cold, and you’ll turn faint when you get on your journey. Here she comes.”