ht, invisibly in the fog; and has not a man a right
to some complacence, on whose presence in the house hang a fair maiden's
peace and security? Miss Joliffe had said that Anastasia felt nervous
whenever he, Westray, was away; it was very possible that Anastasia had
given her aunt a hint that she would like him to be told this, and he
smiled again in the fog; he certainly need have no fear of any rejection
of his suit.

He had been so deeply immersed in these reassuring considerations that
he walked steadily on unconscious of all exterior objects and conditions
until he saw the misty lights of the station, and knew that his goal was
reached. His misgivings and tergiversations had so much delayed him by
the way, that it was past midnight, and the train was already due.
There were no other travellers on the platform, or in the little
waiting-room where a paraffin-lamp with blackened chimney struggled
feebly with the fog. It was not a cheery room, and he was glad to be
called back from a contemplation of a roll of texts hanging on the wall,
and a bottle of stale water on the table, to human things by the entry
of a drowsy official who was discharging the duties of station-master,
booking-clerk, and porter all at once.

"Are you waiting for the London train, sir?" he asked in a surprised
tone, that showed that the night-mail found few passengers at Cullerne
Road. "She will be in now in a few minutes; have you your ticket?"

They went together to the booking-office. The station-master handed him
a third-class ticket, without even asking how he wished to travel.

"Ah, thank you," Westray said, "but I think I will go first-class
to-night. I shall be more likely to have a compartment to myself, and
shall be less disturbed by people getting in and out."

"Certainly, sir," said the station-master, with the marked increase of
respect due to a first-class passenger--"certainly, sir; please give me
back the other ticket. I shall have to write you one--we do not keep
them ready; we are so very seldom asked for first-class at this
station."

"No, I suppose not," Westray said.

"Things happen funny," the station-master remarked while he _got_ his
pen. "I wrote one by this same train a month ago, and before that I
don't think we have ever sold one since the station was opened."

"Ah," Westray said, paying little attention, for he was engaged in a new
mental disputation as to whether he was really justified in travelling