How strangely our impetuous wishes are answered sometimes.
Something did happen to Geraldine the very next moment.
The conductor came back from the Pullman coach, and, pausing at her seat, said, respectfully:
"I beg your pardon, miss, but there is a lady back in the Pullman whose husband has just died suddenly from a frightful hemorrhage. In her distress there is not a woman to comfort her except an unfeeling negro maid, who is too busy flirting with the porter to attend to her duties. Could you—would you go back in there and speak a word of comfort to the poor soul?"
His gruff voice was very kindly now that his sympathies were awakened, and he gazed almost pleadingly at the girl who looked, in turn, questioningly at Standish.
He hesitated a moment, as if about to refuse, then answered, quietly:
"Yes, go, and I will accompany you," and, like a jailer guarding a prisoner, he followed her to the Pullman coach.
[CHAPTER XXX.]
A STARTLING DECLARATION.