Sauntering across the platform, Daunt leaned against the signal-post, on whose swinging arm a round, fevered eye watched, unwinkingly and angry, for the distant train, fast growing from a bright pin point to a blazing blotch of yellow, between the spun-out rails. Its attenuated rumbling had swelled to a trembling roar. His pre-occupation was so deep that the clamorous iron thing was upon him almost before he heard it. The surprise jarred him into sudden movement, and it was then that his tired limbs lurched under him; the sucking vortex of the hurtling mass threw him off his balance, he wavered, stumbled, fell—and the pitiless armored monster, plunging, gigantic, regardless, caught him on its mailed side and passed on, to shudder, to slow, to stop—too late!
XIII.
The gas lamps had been early lit and threw flaring streaks of white across the dingy platform as Margaret reached the station. She had stood on the top of the little slope, looking back across the fields, grown dim and mysterious in the purpling dusk, with a tightening of the throat. However unhappy she had been here, yet she had seen Daunt. He had stood with her by those dwarfed hedges, he had pleaded with her under the flaming boughs of those woods. She could still feel the strong pressure of his lips upon her hand as he besought her for what she could have given him so eagerly, so gladly, so joyously if she had dared. She was leaving him there, and the parting now seemed so much more than that other seaside flight, when she had been stung to action by her own self-reproach. Making her mute farewell, she heard a shriek of steam, as the train came shuddering into the station, drawing long, labored breaths like some chained serpent monster, overtired, and she hastened stumblingly, uncertainly over the stony road. When she reached the platform, she was out of breath and panting, and did not notice the knot of trainmen, with beckoning arms and dangling lanterns, by the side of the track.
She sank into her Pullman seat wearily. Several windows were open and inquiring heads were thrust forth. She was conscious of a subdued excitement in the air. A conductor passed hurriedly through the coach and swung himself deftly off the end. People about her asked each other impatiently why the train did not start, and a sallow-faced woman with a false front hoped nervously and audibly that nothing was the matter. A sudden whisper spread itself from chair to chair, and a man came back from the smoking compartment to seat himself beside his wife, and pulled down the window-shade with low whisperings.
“An accident. A man hurt.”
Margaret heard it with a tremor. She tried to raise her window, but the latch caught, and she placed her face close to the pane to peer out. Up the platform tramped four trainmen, bloused and grimy with coal-dust, carrying between them a board, covered with tarpaulin, under which showed clearly the outlines of a human figure.
Margaret caught her breath and drew back with a sudden feeling of faintness. There were a few tense moments of waiting. Then a quiver ran through the heavy trucks, there was a sharp whistle, a snort of escaping steam, and past her window moved slowly back the station lamps. A porter went toward the baggage-car, his arms piled high with white towels, which threw his ebony face into sharp contrast. The forward conductor leaned over the occupant of the chair across from Margaret to borrow his flask, and went out with it. She realized from this that the injured one was on the train.
He was probably at that moment lying on the floor of the baggage-car, amid a litter of trunks and bags. Men were bending over him to see if he lived or died. Five minutes ago he had been as full of life and strength and breath as she. Now he lay stricken and maimed and ghastly, a huddle of bleeding flesh and torn sinew, perhaps never again to see the smile of the sunlight, or, perhaps, to live mutilated and broken and disfigured, his every breath a pain, his every pulse a pang. Perhaps he had loved ones—a one loved one, who had hung about his neck and kissed him when he went away. What of that love when they should bring this object back to her?