d to think of the absurdity of his wild quest, of her probable
anger at his interference. He fought back his despair, his jealousy, his
inordinate fear. The one thing necessary now was to get to her--to be on
hand in case she needed him.

Through the interminable hours of the night almost every breath came with
an effort, but he scarcely heeded the fact. With characteristic
persistence he forced himself to follow her steps in imagination from the
time she left home until she reached her destination. The eight-o'clock
sleeper that she had taken was due in Chicago at five-thirty. She would
probably not leave it before seven at the earliest, and by that time
Rose's telegram ought to have reached her. He tried to picture its effect
on her. Much would depend upon the time that intervened between its
reception and her seeing Mr. Phipps. If he met her, as he probably would,
he would sweep aside all her doubts. If, on the other hand, Eleanor had
time to think the matter over, her innate common sense might make her
wait at least until she heard what Rose had to tell her. On the bare
chance of his not meeting her, what would she do? Take the next train
home? Go to his apartment? Go to a hotel alone?

Plan after plan rushed through Quin's mind, only to be impatiently
discarded. He sat tense and still, with his clenched hands rammed in his
pockets and his eyes fixed on the black square of the window. Sometimes
dim objects flew past, and now and then sharp, vivid lights stabbed the
darkness. Once the smelting-pots of a huge iron foundry belched forth a
circle of swirling flames, and for a moment wrenched his mind off his
problems. Then the regular pounding of the wheels on the rails recalled
him.

"She's gone to be married. Gone--to be married. Gone--to be married."

He realized that they had been saying it in monotonous rhythm ever since
he started--that they would go on saying it through eternity.

Suddenly the train jarred to a standstill. Figures with lanterns emerged
through a cloud of steam and stood under his window.

"Guess we got a hot-box," said a sleepy passenger across the aisle. "That
means I'll miss my connection."

Quin got up and went out on the platform. He was filled with rage at the
lazy deliberation with which the men set about their task. He longed to
wrench the tools out of their hands and do the job himself.

"How much will this put us behind?" he demanded of the conductor.

"Oh, not more than twenty