“Were you ever blocked up by a snowstorm?” asked Hurstmanceaux. “I have been—once in Scotland and once in Canada. It is a disagreeable experience.”
“It must be, indeed. I hope there will be no chance of that to-day?”
“Oh, no; men will have kept the line clear, no doubt!”
As he spoke the train slackened its speed, moved with a jerking and dragging sound for some time, and a little while later stopped still with a great noise of rushing steam, and a jar which shook the carriage violently and flung Ossian against one of the doors.
The lady turned pale, but she did not move or scream; she looked a mute inquiry.
“I suppose they have failed to keep the line clear,” he said, in answer to the glance. “Allow me to look out a moment.”
He let down a window and leaned out of it; but the air was so dense with steam and snow that he could not see a yard before him.
“Is it an accident?” she said.
“I do not think so. I imagine we have run into a snow-drift, nothing more.”
The noise of the steam rushing out of the engine, and the shouts of officials calling to each other, almost drowned his voice. He took his railway-key out of his pocket and opened the door.