rowned her voice. They heard the guard's
whistle. People were scrambling into the carriages. A fat man in plaid
trousers was running ridiculously, his bag banging against his legs.
People laughed. Amaldi was helping her into a carriage. The guard
slammed the door. She stood at the window and reached out her hand to
him. He grasped it, looking up at her in silence. Then the train began
to move. He walked beside it for a little way. The rhythm of the wheels
quickened. The trucks began their clangorous, jerky sing-song. The
closely clasped hands were drawn apart. She felt the rushing air chill
on her hand that was still warm from his. She sank back, pulling down
the brown travelling veil that she had thrown back for her last look at
him. With closed eyes she tried to recall his face, and, as before, in
the station, it refused to come clearly to her. Mile after mile she sat
there without stirring, and it seemed to her that she must have cried
out with the sharp misery of it all, but for the motion of the train
which seemed in some inexplicable way to dull the edge of her suffering.
When the train stopped at some station she could scarcely endure the
sudden stillness. Then when it rushed on again, again in that odd way,
her pain became once more soothed.

But after half an hour or so this haze of stupefaction lifted, leaving
her face to face with clear agony once more. It was the thought of her
son that racked her now ... her little son, flesh of her flesh, heart of
her heart. What must he, too, be enduring?--he who had once begged her
never to leave him again, "for Jesus' sake, Amen." She could see his
little, pale face upturned to the car windows at Sweet-Waters station
and hear the tremble in his voice. She felt as though a knife were being
turned round and round in her breast. Then black fear seized her again
... fear of what it might be in Lady Wychcote's power to do against
her--what she might have done already. Would Mr. Surtees really be her
friend? Would he believe her? Would all those strange men believe her
story? Would she have to tell it to them face to face?-- Perhaps go
into Court?

She clenched her hands in her helpless anguish until they ached and
burnt.... O God!... God! Suppose that some ill had come to him. Suppose
she were never to hear that eager, strong little voice again.... She
stood up suddenly to her full height. People in the carriage stared at
her. She dropped back again wondering if she had cri