Yet pleasure and amusement palled on him; the sea breeze had lost its charm, and the sparkling waves their beauty; flowers seemed to be without fragrance; the fertile green pastures of Germany and Denmark, in all their summer glory, and the woods with the first tints of autumn, were without interest to his eye; for he was, more than ever, a man of one thought, and that thought was Clare Collingwood.
In this mood of mind, without thinking how or why, he started for the famous old Hans town.
The train took him to Korsor, in Zealand; there he crossed the Great Belt, and from the deck of the Maid of Norway steamer could see the Danish Isles steeped in the noon-day heat, when every sandy holm and green headland seemed to vibrate in the sunshine that glistened on the blue waves which roll round Nyeborg and picturesque old Odensee; and after running through Sleswig and Holstein on a pleasant afternoon in autumn, he found himself at Hamburg, in the train for Lubeck, 'the Carthage of the North.'
Tom Travers had seen to the luggage and the inspection thereof; procured the tickets for himself and his master, and the latter had just lit his cigar, and composed himself for his journey, pleased to find himself the sole occupant of a carriage, when he suddenly observed a lady, undoubtedly an Englishwoman, procuring a bouquet of rose-buds from a Vierlander fleuriste, one of those picturesquely costumed girls who wear a bodice that is a mass of spangles and embroidery, a straw hat shaped like a Spanish sombrero, and thick, bunchy skirts, such as we may see in an old picture of Teniers, and who come from that district which lies between the Elbe and the Bille, where the whole population are market-gardeners.
There was some delay, during which the train was shifted a little, and amid the bustle of the platform the lady looked about in confusion, uncertain which was her carriage.
Already the starting bell had been rung and the shrill steam-whistle had sent up its preparatory shriek.
'Dritte klasse, zweite klasse!' the bearded German guard was shouting, while waving his little flag of the North Germanic colours. 'Hierher—nach hinten—nach vorn—Bitte, steigen sie ein, madame!' ('Pray get in,' etc.)
Mechanically, Chute, in mere politeness, opened the carriage door, and she was half handed, half pushed in by the hasty guard, for already the train was in motion, and she found herself, it would seem, separated from her friends, and swept away by the express in companionship with a total stranger.
'How awkward,' she said in German; 'I have been put—almost thrust, I may say—into the wrong carriage.'
'You can change at Buchen, the only place where the express stops,' replied Chute.