“We need not hurry so much.”
“What do you mean?”—he asked the question as though there was no necessity for him to do so.
He read the answer in her face.
“Oh! Basil—Basil!” she cried; and after that there was a great silence, while the train swept on.
She did not dare to look at him—but she felt blindly about for his hand, and took and held it in hers;—and he let it lie there passive.
When they came near to the junction, she resumed her old position, from which she stole a glance at Basil.
His face was shaded by his hand, and she could tell nothing of how it was with him.
With a great shriek and hustle, the train rushed into the station.
“He was dead, then, when you left,” Basil said, without lifting his head, or turning his face, or moving his hand.
“Yes,” she answered; and the train stopped, and the junction he had desired so earnestly to reach was gained.