Page:010 Once a week Volume X Dec 1863 to Jun 64.pdf/590

 Mr. Carlton, in little less commotion than herself, looked about for the place where tickets were issued, and found it closed. The rattle he gave at the board was enough to frighten the ticket clerk inside, had one been there; which did not appear to be the case: the place maintained an obstinate silence, and the board continued down in the aperture; Mr. Carlton was in a frenzy, and knocked and called, for the train was dashing into the station. Not a soul was about that he could see; not a soul. The labourer with the portmanteau and parcel stood behind him, staring helplessly, and Laura had gone through.

Yes, Laura Chesney had gone through, and she stood on the platform hardly knowing what she did, her upraised hands imploring by their gesture that the train should stop. But the train did not stop, it did not even slacken speed. The train went whirling recklessly on with the velocity of an express, and by the light of a lamp that hung in a first-class carriage Laura saw, quietly seated in it, the form of Captain Chesney.

With a faint cry, with a shiver of dismay, she fell back against the wall. We know how different was the object of Captain Chesney’s sudden journey, but Laura naturally concluded that he had come in pursuit of her. He had not seen her; there was some comfort in that; he had his face bent rather from her, as he conversed with a passenger on the opposite side of the compartment, and never looked towards her at all. Laura stood there in helpless fear, gazing after the train, in expectation that it would stop and backen.

Mr. Carlton came forth from the room in an accession of rage not easily described, at the neglect (as he supposed it) of the officials of the station. He looked after the train also, now nearly whirled beyond view, and could not understand why it had not stopped. A man with a band round his hat, who appeared to belong to the station, was advancing leisurely, a huge lantern in his hand, from some remote part of the platform. Mr. Carlton attacked him vigorously.

What was the meaning of this? Passengers waiting to go by the train, and nobody in attendance to issue tickets! He’d complain to the company; he’d write to the Times; he’d—he’d—in Mr. Carlton’s explosive anger it was impossible to say what he would not do.

The man received it all with stolid equanimity, simply saying in reply that the gentleman was mistaking the trains if he had thought to get tickets for the one just gone by. It didn’t stop there.

“Not stop here?” repeated Mr. Carlton, a little taken aback. “But there is a train stops here at this time?”

The man shook his head. “One stopped here twenty minutes ago,” he said. “The one just gone on never stopped at Lichford yet, since I have been on the service.”

And Mr. Carlton, hastily taking out his watch, which he might have consulted before, found that they had lost their intended train by more than twenty minutes, thanks to the accident.

“When does the next train pass that stops here?” he inquired.

“At midnight. Take tickets ten minutes afore it.”

Mr. Carlton drew Laura’s hand within his, and asked for the waiting-room. There was no waiting-room, he had the pleasure of hearing, save the small, cold, bare place where he had stood thumping for the ticket clerk. The fire was nearly out; Mr. Carlton stirred it into a blaze and demanded more coal.

Placing her in a chair before him, he paid the man who had brought the portmanteau and dismissed him. Then he asked the porter, who had gone into the little place where the tickets were kept, whether refreshments could be obtained from anywhere for the lady, and was answered by the same stolid stare. Such a question had never been put in that station before, and refreshments were no more procurable than tickets. It appeared that Mr. Carlton could only resign himself to his situation.

Laura was shivering inwardly and outwardly. Mr. Carlton took off some of her things and shook them and hung them on a chair. Indeed it was not a pleasant plight to be placed in: arrested midway in this most provoking manner, in all this discomfort.

“I am so sorry!” he murmured. “If you don’t mind waiting here alone, I’ll go on to the village and bring you back something in the shape of refreshment. There’s sure to be an inn in it. You are trembling with the cold and rain.”

“It is not that; it is not that; and for refreshment, I could not touch it. Did you see him?” she continued in a shivering whisper.

“See whom?” asked Mr. Carlton.

“Papa.”

He looked at her in surprise. “See him? Where?”

“In that train just gone by. He was in one of the carriages.”

Mr. Carlton truly thought she must be wandering; that the disasters of their unpropitious journey had momentarily obscured her intellects.

“Lewis, I tell you he was there—papa. He was in one of the carriages, sitting forward on the seat and talking to somebody opposite.