The horses galloped on and the sleigh lurched faster—and faster.
CHAPTER XIII
The night train steamed swiftly through the darkness, the cars swaying from side to side of the track, and the couplings clanging and jolting. It was warm inside the compartments and the air made a thick steam on the windows, hiding the snowfields and the station as the train rushed thundering past. In one of the third-class compartments two gypsies sat together with their heads close to the window, peering out.
"Half an hour now, Velasco."
"Twenty-two minutes, Kaya."
"Now, only twelve."
"Are the passports ready, Velasco?"
"They are here, little one. There is Virballen now in the distance; can you see the roofs and the eagle floating? In another moment, another second—!"
The two gypsies sat quiet, straining their eyes through the steam; then the dark one rose suddenly and adjusted the strap of his knapsack, taking his violin in his hand.