“Who? What? My God! No! No! Why, he was here only this morning. It’s impossible! Impossible!
“Oh!”
Mrs. Cartright staggered to her feet, her face appearing before the open window. Her jaw was fallen, her skin the color of dough. She saw Helena.
“Oh!” she gasped. “What—what do you think has happened?”
“What?”
“The train went over the trestle by Jo Bagley’s—three hundred feet—burnt up. And Mr. Clive—isn’t it awful that I should have spoken to him not three hours ago?—was on it. Jo Bagley says he spoke to him when the train stopped. Oh, Helena Belmont, how can you look so indifferent!”
Helena turned and went back into the forest.
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.