“A dollar and sixty cents to the Junction,” replied the conductor. “There you change cars.”
“Where is the Junction?”
“Thirty miles beyond Dalton.”
“Will there be any delay?”
“About five minutes.”
The fare was paid and the conductor passed on.
Carlos now ventured to look around the car. No one appeared to be taking particular notice of him. Many were asleep, a few were trying to read by the flickering light of the lamps overhead, and others were staring patiently into vacancy.
There was nothing alarming in the aspect, and now, seeing that he was not pursued, Carlos began to feel anxious and nervous again. The certainty of calamity is not nearly so disquieting as a sense of proximity, with a possibility of escape. The suspense attendant on this latter condition was soon augmented by the approach to Dalton. He had begun to feel that he might possibly reach New York unmolested, and in that city he hoped to find a safe retreat. Hope and apprehensiveness struggled for the mastery within him, and when the cars drew up at the Dalton depot the conflict was at its height. But, by a violent effort, he calmed himself and betrayed no anxiety.
An incident now occurred that filled him at first with surprise and terror, and afterward with wonderment and perplexity.
Geoffrey Haywood stepped aboard and entered the same car Carlos occupied.