r Roland was with him. His hesitancy, if it was not
altogether embarrassment, was caused by the fear that she might quite
naturally regard his interest in a wrong light. He was especially
sensitive upon that point, and had always been. The fact that she was
not a young woman, and that he had seen her dark hair finely threaded
with gray, made no difference with him in his peculiarly chivalric
conception of man's attitude toward woman. He did not mean to impress
himself upon her; this time he merely wanted to see whether she had
roused herself, or had left the car. At least this was the trend of his
mental argument as he entered the third coach.

The car was empty. The woman was gone. Even the old man who had hobbled
in on crutches at the last station had hobbled out again in response to
the clanging bells. When he came to the seat where the woman had been,
David paused, and would have turned back had he not chanced to look out
through the window. He was just in time to catch the quick upturn of a
passing face. It was _her_ face. She saw him and recognized him; she
seemed for a moment to hesitate; her eyes were filled again with that
haunting fire; her lips trembled as if about to speak; and then, like a
mysterious shadow, she drifted out of his vision into darkness.

For a space he remained in his bent and staring attitude, trying to
pierce the gloom into which she had disappeared. As he drew back from
the window, wondering what she must think of him, his eyes fell to the
seat where she had been sitting, and he saw that she had left something
behind.

It was a very thin package, done up in a bit of newspaper and tied with
a red string. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It was
five or six inches in width and perhaps eight in length, and was not
more than half an inch in thickness. The newspaper in which the object
was wrapped was worn until the print was almost obliterated.

Again he looked out through the window. Was it a trick of his eyes, he
wondered, or did he see once more that pale and haunting face in the
gloom just beyond the lampglow? His fingers closed a little tighter upon
the thin packet in his hand. At least he had found an excuse; if she was
still there--if he could find her--he had an adequate apology for going
to her. She had forgotten something; it was simply a matter of courtesy
on his part to return it. As he alighted into the half foot of snow on
the platform he could have given no ot