“I believe so,” he replied, carelessly; and then the brief wait at the station being over, the train rushed on into the deep gloom of twilight.
It was scarcely a mile further on that, lying back with shut eyes and confused thoughts that mostly centered around the lonely figure of the woman just gone, he was roused by a terrible roar, a jumble of horrible sound, movement, and stifled shrieks of fear and pain, then consciousness gave way, and he lay still and death-like under the débris of a dreadful railway wreck—a collision caused by the misplacing of a switch.
Mrs. Varian revived out in the cold evening air, and she congratulated herself on her lucky escape, as she and Janetta sought the nearest hotel.
They had supper, and went to their rooms, a luxurious connecting suite.
Mrs. Varian was nervous and hysterically gay, laughing to herself at the clever coup by which she had outwitted fate.
“I wonder if he saw me—if he guessed why I left the train—but perhaps he was glad of it,” she thought.
She walked restlessly up and down the room, chafing under a weight that seemed to rest like a pall on her spirits—a weight of prescient gloom.
“Mrs. Varian, you are nervous. You ought to take some drops and retire, or you will not be fit to resume your journey in the morning,” the maid remonstrated, when she had watched her restless movements some time in silence.
“You are right Janetta, and I will take your advice. I should like to sleep, for my thoughts are not pleasant to-night,” the lady returned, docilely.