scatheless."

There was a silence between them then. She recognised that she had made
a mistake in questioning him about a past which he had already declared
hateful. The terror of an hour or more ago was in his face again. He
was back amongst the shadows whence she had beckoned him. She yawned
and took up her book.

They stopped at a great station, but the man was in a brown study and
scarcely moved his head. An angry guard came hurrying up to the window,
but a few words from the lady and a stealthily opened purse worked
wonders. They were left undisturbed, and the train glided off. She
laid down her book and spoke again.

"Do you mind passing me my luncheon basket?" she said, "and opening that
flask of wine? Are you not hungry, too?"

He shook his head, but when he came to think of it he knew that he was
ravenous. She passed him sandwiches as a matter of course--such
sandwiches as he had never eaten before--and wine which was strange to
him and which ran through his veins like warm magic. Once more the load
of evil memories seemed to pass away from him. He was not so much at
ease eating and drinking with her, but she easily acquired her former
hold upon him. She herself, whose appetite was assumed, watched him,
and wondered more and more.

Suddenly there came an interruption. The shrill whistling of the
engine, the shutting off of steam, the violent application of the brake.
The train came to a standstill. The man put down the window and looked
out.

"What is it?" she asked, with admirable nonchalance, making no effort to
leave her seat.

"I think that there has been an accident to some one," he said. "I will
go and see."

She nodded.

"Come back and tell me," she said. "Myself I shall not look. I am not
fond of horrors."

She took up her book, and he jumped down upon the line and made his way
to where a little group of men were standing in a circle. Some one
turned away with white face as he approached and stopped him.

"Don't look!--for God's sake, don't look!" he said. "It's too awful.
It isn't fit. Fetch a tarpaulin, some one."

"Was he run over?" some one asked. "Threw himself from that carriage,"
the guard answered, moving his head towards a third-class compartment,
of which the door stood open. "He was dragged half a mile, and--there
isn't much left of him, poor devil," he added, with a little break in
his speech.

"Does any one know who he was?" the young man asked.

"No one--nor where he