so fresh in
his mind, and the very sound of her music was still in his brain, he
simply could not without a pang turn back again to life which contained no
solution of her mystery, no hope of another vision of her face.

The little station behind him was closed, though a light over the desk
shone brightly through its front window and the telegraph sounder was
clicking busily. The operator had gone over the hill with an important
telegram, leaving the station door locked. The platform was windy and
cheerless, with a view of a murky swamp, and the sound of deep-throated
inhabitants croaking out a late fall concert. A rusty-throated cricket in
a crack of the platform wailed a plaintive note now and then, and off
beyond the swamp, in the edge of the wood, a screech-owl hooted.

Turning impatiently from the darkness, Dunham sought the bright window, in
front of which lay a newspaper. He could read the large headlines of a
column--no more, for the paper was upside down, and a bunch of bill-heads
lay partly across it. It read:

MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF YOUNG AND PRETTY WOMAN

His heart stood still, and then went thudding on in dull, horrid blows.
Vainly he tried to read further. He followed every visible word of that
paper to discover its date and origin, but those miserable bill-heads
frustrated his effort. He felt like dashing his hand through the glass,
but reflected that the act might result in his being locked up in some
miserable country jail. He tried the window and gave the door another
vicious shake, but all to no purpose. Finally he turned on his heel and
walked up and down for an hour, tramping the length of the shaky platform,
back and forth, till the train rumbled up. As he took his seat in the car
he saw the belated agent come running up the platform with a lighted
lantern on his arm, and a package of letters, which he handed to the
brakeman, but there was not time to beg the newspaper from him. Dunham's
indignant mind continued to dwell upon the headlines, to the annoying
accompaniment of screech-owl and frog and cricket. He resented the
adjective "pretty." Why should any reporter dare to apply that word to a
sweet and lovely woman? It seemed so superficial, so belittling, and--but
then, of course, this headline did not apply to his new friend. It was
some other poor creature, some one to whom perhaps the word "pretty"
really applied; some one who was not really beautiful, only pretty.

At the first