"I hardly like to let it go out of my own charge," I answered anxiously; "though I know, of course, that it would be safe with you."
We were, at the time of this conversation, running through a most beautiful valley, glorious with tropical vegetation. The train was gradually rising on an easy gradient to the higher lands, where we hoped to get fresher air, for the heat in the valley was most oppressive after three weeks passed practically in the open on the deck of the Oceana.
Without in any way forcing myself on Mrs. Darbyshire's society, I contrived to see a good deal of Dolores on this little railway journey, which was only to occupy a day and a half.
Once on the beautiful tableland with its gorgeous views of hill and dale, ocean and distant mountain, the train sped onwards at a rate almost alarming to us used to the slower methods of Europe.
It was well on in the evening; we had dined excellently in the well-provided restaurant car, and were lounging about in the moonlight thinking of turning in—for there were several sleeping-cars attached to the train—when the incident occurred which very nearly rendered my journey fruitless. It was just as we had entered Aquazilian territory, and passed the customs. We were, as I have said, lounging about smoking, when the train which was running through a deep cutting suddenly slowed down, and presently the breaks [Transcriber's note: brakes?] were put on so hard that we who were standing near were nearly thrown off our feet.
"Whatever is the matter?" cried Ethel, who was sitting in a compartment of the smoking-car with us. "I hope there is no accident."
St. Nivel, who was sitting opposite to me, suddenly leaned forward and whispered—
"If you have that packet of yours handy, give it to me. I think there will be trouble."
He had travelled in America before, and I placed a good deal of reliance on his experience.
From the front of the train there arose a great hubbub, a chorus of exclamations in Spanish.