Helbeck of Bannisdale, vol 2 | Page 6

of Bannisdale. There on the further bank were the lights of Braeside. She had forgotten to ask whether they changed at the junction--probably the Marsland train would be waiting.
The Greet!--its voice was in her ears, its many channels shone in the flooding light. How near the hills seemed!--just a moonlight walk along the sands, and one was there, under the old tower and the woods. The sands were dangerous, people said. There were quicksands among them, and one must know the paths. Ah! well--she smiled. Humdrum trains and cabs were good enough for her to-night.
She hung at the open window, looking down into the silver water. How strange, after these ghastly hours, to feel yourself floating in beauty and peace--a tremulous peace--like this? The world going your way--the soul yielding itself to fate--taking no more painful thought for the morrow----
* * * * *
"Braeside! All change!"
Laura sprang from the carriage. The station clock opposite told her to her dismay that it was nearly half-past eleven.
"Where's the Marsland train?" she said to the porter who had come forward to help her. "And how dreadfully late we are!"
"Marsland train, Miss! Last one left an hour ago--no other till 6.12 to-morrow morning."
"What do you mean? Oh! you didn't hear!--it's the train for Marsland I want."
"Afraid you won't get it then, Miss, till to-morrow. Didn't they warn you at Froswick? They'd ought to. This train only makes the main-line connection--for Crewe and Rugby--no connection Whinthorpe way after 8.20."
Laura's limbs seemed to waver beneath her. A step on the platform. She turned and saw Hubert Mason.
"You!"
Mason thought she would faint. He caught her arm to support her. The porter looked at them curiously, then moved away, smiling to himself.
Laura tottered to the railing at the back of the platform and supported herself against it.
"What are you here for?" she said to him in a voice--a voice of hatred--a voice that stung.
He glanced down upon her, pulling his fair moustache. His handsome face was deeply flushed.
"I only heard there was no train on, from the guard, just as you were starting; so I jumped into the next carriage that I might be of some use to you here if I could. You needn't look at me like that," he broke out violently--"I couldn't help it!"
"You might have found out," she said hoarsely.
"Say you believe I did it on purpose!--to get you into trouble!--you may as well. You'd believe anything bad about me, I know."
Already there was a new note in his voice, a hoarse, tyrannous note, as though he felt her in his power. In her terror the girl recalled that wild drive from the Browhead dance, with its disgusts and miseries. Was he sober now? What was she to do?--how was she to protect herself? She felt a passionate conviction that she was trapped, that he had planned the whole catastrophe, knowing well what would be thought of her at Bannisdale--in the neighbourhood.
She looked round her, making a desperate effort to keep down exhaustion and excitement. The main-line train had just gone, and the station-master, with a lantern in his hand, was coming up the platform.
Laura went to meet him.
"I've made a mistake and missed the last train to Marsland. Can I sit here in the station till the morning?"
The station-master looked at her sharply--then at the man standing a yard or two behind her. The young lady had to his eye a wild, dishevelled appearance. Her fair hair had escaped its bonds in all directions, and was hanging loose upon her neck behind. Her hat had been crumpled and bent by the child's embracing arms; the little muslin dress showed great smears of coal-dust here and there, and the light gloves were black.
"No, Miss," he said, with rough decision. "You can't sit in the station. There'll be one more train down directly--the express--and then we shut the station for the night."
"How long will that be?" she asked faintly. He looked at his watch.
"Thirty-five minutes. You can go to the hotel, Miss. It's quite respectable."
He gave her another sharp glance. He was a Dissenter, a man of northern piety, strict as to his own morals and other people's. What on earth was she doing here, in that untidy state, with a young man, at an hour going on for midnight? Missed train? The young man said nothing about missed trains.
But just as he was turning away, the girl detained him.
"How far is it across the sands to Marsland station?"
"Eight miles, about--shortest way."
"And the road?"
"Best part of fifteen."
He walked off, throwing a parting word behind him.
"Now understand, please, I can't have anybody here when we lock up for the night."
Laura hardly heard him. She was looking first to one side of the station, then to the other. The platform and line stood raised under the hill.