_en route_ for Montreal. For the first time I knew
why he had never married, a problem that had cost me many conjectures.
The story is founded on a presentiment. Presentiments are difficult
things to analyze, but for my part I believe the tale, and am content
to let the reader use his own judgment in the matter.

"I began my railway career," commenced George, "on the Old Colony
R.R., as operator at Shirley Junction, which at that time was one of
the most important crossing points on the whole road. Poor Herbert
Lawrence, who plays such a tragic part in this story, was the day
operator. It was at Shirley Junction that I met Julia Waine, the
station agent's niece. She was a singularly beautiful girl, and
naturally it was her beauty that first attracted me; but her
intelligence and sympathetic nature were the loadstones that drew my
heart to her as I came to know her better. A week after I arrived at
the Junction, the agent gave a party in honor of Julia's birthday, and
Herbert and I were among the invited guests. Julia looked very
beautiful and sweet, as she welcomed us in the quaint little parlor
over the telegraph office. I had not been in the room ten minutes
before I discovered that Herbert Lawrence loved Julia as unselfishly
as I did. Herbert, who was a gentlemanly fellow, was, on account of
his intensely nervous disposition, ill-adapted to the work of an
operator. He was extremely sensitive, and had a painful habit of
blushing that at times made him look almost ridiculous. He knew his
failing, and it was pitiful to see his struggles for self-command. All
the evening he sat in a corner of the parlor, like a faithful dog,
content to watch the being he so dearly loved. Once or twice during
the party I saw Julia go over to where he was sitting and speak to
him, and from her manner I knew his love was not returned. When
shaking hands with her at the close of the party I heard him say, 'I
hope I may be at your next birthday party.'

"'I hope so; I shall then be twenty-one, and I am beginning to feel
quite old already,' she replied brightly.

"Her next birthday party! God wisely hides the future from us! I had
been at the station a little over six months when the adventure that
I am about to relate occurred. November, 1873, ushered in weather that
railway men heartily dislike. All day a cold rain had fallen, coating
the rails with a thin layer of ice. Drivers of express trains had
their work cut out to keep on time, wh