"You sleep here," said Glazzard. "Your expenses are paid. I'll take
leave of you now, and I sha'n't see you again, as I have to leave by
the 3.40 up-train."

The money he had promised was transferred to Northway's pocket, and
they shook hands with much friendliness.

Glazzard quitted the hotel. His train back to Polterham left at 1.14,
and it was past midnight.

He went into the station, now quiet and deserted. A footstep
occasionally echoed under the vault, or a voice sounded from a
distance. The gas was lowered; out at either end gleamed the coloured
signal-lights, and above them a few faint stars.

It was bitterly cold. Glazzard began to walk up and down, his eyes
straying vaguely. He felt a miserable sinking of the heart, a weariness
as if after great exertion.

An engine came rolling slowly along one of the lines; it stopped just
beyond the station, and then backed into a siding. There followed the
thud of carriage against carriage: a train was being made up, he went
to watch the operation. The clang of metal, the hiss of steam, the
moving about of men with lanterns held his attention for some time, and
so completely that he forgot all else.

Somewhere far away sounded a long-drawn whistle, now faint, now
clearer, a modulated wail broken at moments by a tremolo on one high
note. It was like a voice lamenting to the dead of night. Glazzard
could not endure it; he turned back into the station and tramped
noisily on the stone platform.

Then the air was disturbed by the dull roar of an approaching train,
and presently a long string of loaded waggons passed without pause. The
engine-fire glowed upon heavy puffs of smoke, making them a rich
crimson. A freight of iron bars clanged and clashed intolerably. When
remoteness at length stilled them, there rose again the long wailing
whistle; it was answered by another like it from still greater distance.

Glazzard could stand and walk no longer. He threw himself on a seat,
crossed his arms, and remained motionless until the ringing of a bell
and a sudden turning on of lights warned him that his train drew near.

On the way to Polterham he dozed, and only a fortunate awaking at the
last moment saved him from passing his station. It was now close upon
two o'clock, and he had a two-mile walk to Highmead. His brother
believed that he was spending the evening with an acquaintance in a
neighbouring town; he had said he should probably be very late, and a
side door was