Switching off the solitary light Alec stretched himself upon the seat, using his great-coat as a pillow. He was asleep before the train left Leeds.
Beyond a slight return to wakefulness as the train pulled up at Carlisle, Alec slept soundly until the first gleam of dawn began to steal through the carriage windows.
He glanced at his wristlet watch. It was half-past five. Sitting up he stretched his cramped limbs.
"By Jove, I am hungry," he muttered. "Won't I make up for it when I get aboard."
Almost the next moment all sense of physical discomfort vanished, as he caught sight of the wonderful vista that met his view. The train was climbing the steep ascent of the hills of Roxburgh. Snow lay deep upon the ground, while the peaks were only partly visible in the grey morning mists. Alec had seen many varieties of scenery in widely different parts of the world, but, as an admirer of nature, he was never tired of "viewing the land".
"Magnificent!" he murmured enthusiastically. "It's worth a night in the train. I've seen the Peak of Teneriffe at sunrise, but our country takes a lot of beating."
A swirling cloud of steam beat against the window pane, momentarily obscuring the outlook. Before it cleared Alec was astonished to hear his name shouted in boisterous tones.
"Alec Seton, by all the powers! What, in the name of all that's wonderful, brings you here?"
Seton's "mouldy messmate" was sitting up and rubbing his eyes—a bronzed, shock-headed youth, who looked, despite his uniform, little more than a schoolboy. His features expanded into a broad grin of whole-hearted delight as he extended a large, horny hand.
For a brief instant Alec was at a loss to recognize his fellow-traveller, then—