ubterranean din and
reek; a symbol to the gaze of that relentless warfare which ceases not,
night and day, in the world above.

For the southward train they had to wait ten minutes. Jessica, keeping
as close as possible to her companion's side, tried to converse, but her
thoughts were in a tumult like to that about her. She felt a faintness,
a quivering in her limbs.

'May I sit down for a moment?' she said, looking at Barmby with a
childlike appeal.

'To be sure.'

She pointed in a direction away from the crowd.

'I have something to say--it's quieter--'

Samuel evinced surprise, but allowed himself to be led towards the black
mouth of the tunnel, whence at that moment rushed an engine with glaring
lights upon its breast.

'We may not be alone in the train,' continued Jessica. 'There's
something you ought to know I must tell you to-night. You were asking me
about Nancy Lord.'

She spoke with panting breath, and looked fixedly at him. The eagerness
with which he lent ear gave her strength to proceed.

'You asked me if she was engaged.'

'Yes--well?'

He had even forgotten his politeness; he saw in her a mere source of
information. Jessica moved closer to him on the bench.

'Had you any reason for thinking she was?'

'No particular reason, except something strange in her behaviour.'

'Would you like to know the whole truth?'

It was a very cold night, and a keen wind swept the platform; but
Jessica, though indifferently clad, felt no discomfort from this cause.
Yet she pressed closer to her companion, so that her cheek all but
touched his shoulder.

'Of course I should,' Barmby answered. 'Is there any mystery?'

'I oughtn't to tell.'

'Then you had better not. But why did you begin?'

'You ought to know.'

'Why ought I to know?'

'Because you--.' She broke off. A sudden chill made her teeth chatter.

'Well--why?' asked Samuel, with impatience.

'Are you--are you in love with her?'

Voice and look embarrassed him. So did the girl's proximity; she was
now all but leaning on his shoulder. Respectable Mr. Barmby could not be
aware that Jessica's state of mind rendered her scarcely responsible for
what she said or did.

'That's a very plain question,' he began; but she interrupted him.

'I oughtn't to ask it. There's no need for you to answer. I know you
have wanted to marry her for a long time. But you never will.'

'Perhaps not--if she has promised somebody else.'

'If I tell you--will