in fallen forward on his face just
when he was flying down grade under a full head of steam. It was duskily
clear, with a great lake of crimson light dying into purple over the
hills of midsummer heather. The driver was John Platt, the Englishman
from Crewe, who had been brought from the great London and Northwestern
Railway, locally known as "The Ell-nen-doubleyou." In these remote
railway circles the talk is as exclusively of matters of the four-foot
way as in Crewe or Derby. There is an inspector of traffic, whose portly
presence now graces Carlisle Station, who left the P.P.R. in these
sad days of amalgamation, because he could not endure to see so
many "Sou'west" waggons passing over the sacred metals of the P.P.R.
permanent way. From his youth he had been trained in a creed of two
articles: "To swear by the P.P.R. through thick and thin, and hate the
apple green of the 'Sou'west.'" It was as much as he could do to put
up with the sight of the abominations; to have to hunt for their trucks
when they got astray was more than mortal could stand, so he fled the
land.

So when they stopped the express for Gavin Balchrystie, every man on the
line felt that it was an honour to the dead. John Platt sent a "gurring"
thrill through the train as he put his brakes hard down and whistled
for the guard. He, thinking that the Merrick Viaduct was down at least,
twirled his brake to such purpose that the rear car progressed along the
metals by a series of convulsive bounds. Then they softly ran back,
and there lay Gavin fallen forward on his knees, as though he had been
trying to rise, or had knelt down to pray. Let him have "the benefit of
the doubt" in this world. In the next, if all tales be true, there is no
such thing.

So Janet Balchrystie dwelt alone in the white "but an' ben" at the back
of the Long Wood of Barbrax. The factor gave her notice, but the laird,
who was not accounted by his neighbours to be very wise, because he
did needlessly kind things, told the factor to let the lassie bide, and
delivered to herself with his own handwriting to the effect that Janet
Balchrystie, in consideration of her lonely condition, was to be allowed
the house for her lifetime, a cow's grass, and thirty pound sterling in
the year as a charge on the estate. He drove down the cow himself, and
having stalled it in the byre, he informed her of the fact over the yard
dyke by word of mouth, for he never could be induced to enter her door.
H