Edith stooped to pick up the beautiful Russia leather bag which she had dropped as she stumbled, and followed the couple to the train, where, with the help of a porter, the injured lady was assisted into a parlor car.
The one adjoining it was the common passenger coach in which Edith had ridden from New York.
"Here is madam's bag, sir," she remarked to the gentleman, as, supporting his wife with one arm, he was about to pass into the Pullman.
"Are you going on this train?" he inquired, looking back over his shoulder at her.
"Yes, sir; but I do not belong in the parlor car."
"Never mind; we will fix that all right. Bring the bag along, if you will be so kind," he returned, as he went on with his companion.
So Edith followed them to the little state-room at one end of the car, where madam sank heavily into a chair, looking as if she were ready to swoon.
"Oh, get off my boot!" she pleaded, thrusting out her injured foot.
Edith drew forward a hassock for it to rest upon, and then, with a face full of sympathy, dropped upon her knees and began to unbutton the boot, which, however, was no easy matter, as the ankle was already much swollen.
The train began to move just at this moment, and the young girl started to her feet, an anxious look sweeping over her face.